Snow was swirling against the icy windows once more; Christmas was approaching fast. Hagrid had already singlehandedly delivered the usual twelve Christmas trees to the Great Hall; garlands of holly and tinsel had been twisted around the banisters of the stairs; everlasting candles glowed from inside the helmets of suits of armor and great bunches of mistletoe had been hung at intervals along the corridors. Large groups of girls tended to converge underneath the mistletoe bunches every time Johnny or went past, which caused blockages in the corridors; fortunately, however, their frequent nighttime wanderings had given them an unusually good knowledge of the castle's secret passageways, and then there was the fact Hermione would growl at anyone who dared look at her mate.

Hermione, who seemed to become best friends with Padma, refused to sit in the common room while Ron was there, so Johnny and Harry generally joined her in the library, which meant that their conversations were held in whispers.

"He's at perfect liberty to kiss whomever he likes," said Padma, while the librarian, Madam Pince, prowled the shelves behind them. "I really couldn't care less."

She raised her quill and dotted an 'i' so ferociously that she punctured a hole in her parchment. Harry, Hermione and Johnny said nothing.

"And incidentally," said Hermione, after a few moments, "you need to be careful."

"For the last time," said Harry, speaking in a slightly hoarse tone after three-quarters of an hour's silence, "I am not giving back this book. I've learned more from the Half-Blood Prince than Snape or Slughorn have taught me in--"

"We're not talking about your stupid so-called Prince," said Padma, giving his book a nasty look as though it had been rude to her. Hermione and clearly informed her new best friend of the book. "I'm talking about earlier. Hermione and I went into the girls' bathroom just before we came in here and there were about a dozen girls in there, including that Romilda Vane, trying to decide how to slip you a love potion. They're all hoping they're going to get you to take them to Slughorn's party, and thay all seem to have bought Fred and George's love potions, which I'm afraid to say probably work--"

"Why didn't you confiscate them then?" demanded Harry, it seemed extraordinary that Hermione's mania for upholding the rules could have abandoned her at this crucial juncture.

"They didn't have the potions with them in the bathroom," said Hermione scornfully, "They were just discussing tactics. As I doubt the Half-Blood Prince," she gave the book another scornful look, "could dream up an antidote for a dozen different love potions at once, I'd just invite someone to go with you, that'll stop all the others thinking they've still got a chance. It's tomorrow night, they're getting desperate."

"There isn't anyone I want to invite," mumbled Harry.

"Yes there is," Johnny smirked teasingly, causing Harry to whack him, earning curious looks from Padma and Hermione.

"Well, just be careful what you drink, because Romilda Vane looked like she meant business." said Hermione grimly.

"Hang on a moment," Johnny said slowly. "I thought Filch had banned anything bought at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes?"

"And when has anyone ever paid attention to what Filch has banned?" asked Hermione, still concentrating on her essay.

"But I thought all the owls were being searched. So how come these girls are able to bring love potions into the school?"

"Fred and George Weasley send them disguised as perfumes and cough potions," said Padma, sighing as she looked at her Arithmancy paper. "It's part of their Owl Order Service."

"You know a lot about it," Johnny joked.

Padma gave him the kind of nasty look she had just given Harry's copy of Advanced Potion-Making.

"It was all on the back of the bottles," she said coldly, "I don't go around putting potions in people's drinks..."

"Or pretending too either, which is just as bad..." Hermione carried on for her.

"Yeah, well, never mind that," said Harry quickly. "The point is, Filch is being fooled isn't he? These girls are getting stuff into the school disguised as something else! So why couldn't Malfoy have brought the necklace into the school--?"

"Oh, Harry... not that again..."

"What?" Padma asked, confused.

"Harry has a theory that Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater," whispered Johnny bluntly.

"That's ridiculous," said Padma.

"Come on, why is it?" demanded Harry.

"Look," sighed Hermione, "Secrecy Sensors detect jinxes, curses, and concealment charms, don't they? They're used to find dark magic and dark objects. They'd have picked up a powerful curse, like the one in the necklace, within seconds. But something that's just been put in the wrong bottle wouldn't register--and anyway love potions aren't dark or dangerous--"

"Easy for you to say," muttered Johnny, thinking of checking his drinks from now on.

"--so it would be down to Filch to realise it wasn't a cough potion, and he's not a very good wizard, I doubt he can tell one potion from--"

Hermione stopped dead; Harry, Johnny and Padmahad heard it too. Somebody had moved close behind them among the dark bookshelves. They waited, and a moment later the vulture-like countenance of Madam Pince appeared around the corner, her sunken cheeks, her skin like parchment, and her long hooked nose illuminated unflatteringly by the lamp she was carrying.

"The library is now closed," she said, "Mind you return anything you have borrowed to the correct--what have you been doing to that book, you depraved boy?"

"It isn't the library's, it's mine!" said Harry hastily, snatching his copy of Advanced Potion-Making off the table as she lunged at it with a clawlike hand.

"Despoiled!" she hissed. "Desecrated, befouled!"

"It's just a book that's been written on!" said Harry, tugging it out of her grip.

She looked as though she might have a seizure; Hermione, who had hastily packed her things, grabbed Harry by the arm and frogmarched him away.

"She'll ban you from the library if you're not careful. Why did you have to bring that stupid book?"

"It's not Harry's fault she's barking mad, darling. Or d'you think she overheard you being rude about Filch? I've always thought there might be something between them..."

Padma and Harry laughed. Padma began making her way to the Ravenclaw common room.

"So, are you staying the night?" Hermione asked Johnny, giving him her best puppy dog eyes and pout, knowing Johnny couldn't resist.

"Of course," Johnny smiled, pecking Hermione's lips.

Enjoying the fact that they could speak normally again, the three made their way along the deserted lamp-lit corridors back to the Gryffindor common room, arguing whether or not Filch and Madam Pince were secretly in love with each other.

"Baubles," said Harry to the Fat Lady, this being the new, festive password.

"Same to you," said the fat lady with a roguish grin, and she swung forward to admit them.

"Hi, Harry!" said Romilda Vane, the moment he had climbed through the portrait hole. "Fancy a Gillywater?"

Hermione gave him a "What-did-I-tell-you?" look over her shoulder. Johnny was snickering at his cousin, only to be nudged harshly by Hermione.

"No thanks," said Harry quickly. "I don't like it much."

"Well, take these anyway," said Romilda, thrusting a box into his hands. "Chocolate Cauldrons, they've got firewhiskey in them. My gran sent them to me, but I don't like them."

"Oh--right--thanks a lot." said Harry, who couldn't think what else to say. "Er--I'm just going over here with ..."

He hurried off behind Hermione and Johnny, his voice tailing away feebly.

"Told you," said Hermione succinctly, "Sooner you ask someone, sooner they'll all leave you alone and you can--"

But her face suddnly turned blank; she had just spotted Ron and Lavender, who were intertwined in the same armchair.

"Well, goodnight, Harry," said Hermione, though it was only seven o'clock in the evening, and she left for the girls' dormitory without another word, dragging Johnny behind her.

Transfiguration the next day was a nightmare,

They had just embarked upon the immensely difficult topic of human transfiguration; working in front of mirrors, they were supposed to be changing the color of their own eyebrows. Hermione laughed unkindly at Ron's disastrous first attempt, during which he somehow managed to give himself a spectacular handlebar mustache; Ron retaliated by doing a cruel but accurate impression of Hermione jumping up and down in her seat every time Professor McGonagall asked a question, which Lavender and Parvati found deeply amusing and which reduced Hermione to the verge of tears.

"Fuck you, Ronald Weasley!" Johnny growled, swinging his fist back and punching Ron once more. Even though he had a weeks detention, Johnny didn't care. Hermione raced out of the classroom on the bell, leaving half her things behind; Johnny scooped up her remaining possessions and followed her.

He finally tracked her down as she emerged from a girl's bathroom on the floor below. She was accompanied by Luna Lovegood, who was patting her vaguely on the back.

"Oh, hello, Johnny," said Luna. "Did you know your hair is bright green?"

"Hi, Luna. Hermione, you left your stuff..."

He held out her books.

"Oh, yes," said Hermione, smiling thankfully at Johnny, kissing him. "Thank you, Johnny. We best be off, bye Luna."

Johnny waved as Hermione dragged him off. Dinner was a rather awkward affair that night. As usual, you'd find Hermione and Johnny talking amongst themselves, sharing the odd giggle. Harry had chosen to sit with Ron and Parvati that night, much to the couple's displeasure.

"Hi,  Hermione!" Parvati positively beamed. Johnny could tell that she was feeling guilty for having laughed at Hermione in Transfiguration. Hermione was beaming back, if possible even more brightly. Girls were very strange sometimes.

"Hi, Parvati!" said Hermione, ignoring Ron and Lavender completely. "Are you going to Slughorn's party tonight?"

"No invite," said Parvati gloomily. "I'd love to go, though, it sounds like it's going to be really good... my sister has been invited, hasn't she?"

"Yes, she's meeting Marcus at eight, and they're--"

There was a noise like a plunger being withdrawn from a blocked sink and Ron surfaced. Hermione acted as though she had not seen or heard anything.

"--they're going up to the party together."

"Marcus?" said Parvati. "Marcus Belby, you mean?"

"That's right," said Hermione sweetly.

"Is she going out with him, then?" asked Parvati, wide-eyed. She clearly wanted to know all the details of her sisters love life.

"Oh--yes--didn't you know?" said Harmione, with a most un-Hermione-ish giggle.

"No!" said Parvati, looking positively agog at this piece of gossip.

Hermione and Johnny left, devilish grins on their faces as Johnny slung his arm around Hermione's waist as they walked.

"I'm telling you, darling," Johnny whispered, his lips ghosting over her earlobe. "We're the modern day Bonnie and Clyde, you and I."

Hermione giggled sweetly, her right hand resting on Johnny's chest as she kissed his cheek softly.

Whether it had been built that way, or because he had used magical trickery to make it so, Slughorn's office was much larger than the usual teacher's study. The ceiling and walls had been draped with emerald, crimson and gold hangings, so that it looked as though they were all inside a vast tent. The room was crowded and stuffy and bathed in the red light cast by an ornate golden lamp dangling from the center of the ceiling in which real fairies were fluttering, each a brilliant speck of light. Loud singing accompanied by what sounded like mandolins issued from a distant corner; a haze of pipe smoke hung over several elderly warlocks deep in conversation, and a number of house-elves were negotiating their way squeakily through the forest of knees, obscured by the heavy silver platters of food they were bearing, so that they looked like little roving tables.

"Mr and Mrs. Grind- ah! Caught myself this time!!" boomed Slughorn, almost as soon as Hermione and Johnny had squeezed in through the door. "Come in, come in, so many people I'd like you to meet!"

Slughorn was wearing a tasseled velvet hat to match his smoking jacket. Gripping Johnny's arm so tightly he might have been hoping to Disapparate with him, Slughorn led him purposefully into the party; Johnny seized Hermione's hand and dragged her along with him.

"We're a King and a Queen," Johnny muttered to her. "You can't escape from meeting important people with me."

"Johnny, Hermione, I'd like you to meet Eldred Worple, an old student of mine, author of Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires--and, of course, his friend Sanguini."

Worple, who was a small, stout, bespectacled man, grabbed Johnny's and Hermione's hands and shook them enthusiastically; the vampire Sanguini, who was tall and emaciated with dark shadows under his eyes, merely nodded. He looked rather bored. A gaggle of girls was standing close to him, looking curious and excited.

"Johnathan Grindelwald and Hermione Granger, I am simply delighted!" said Worple, peering short-sightedly up into their faces. "I was saying to Professor Slughorn only the other day, Where is the biography of the King and Queen for which we have all been waiting?"

"Er," said Hermione, taking a glance, "were you?"

"Just as modest as Horace described!" said Worple. "But seriously--" his manner changed; it became suddenly business-like, "I would be delighted to write both biographies myself-- people are craving to know more about you both, craving! If you were prepared to grant me a few interviews, say in four- or five-hour sessions, why, we could have the book finished within months. And all with very little effort on your parts, I assure you--ask Sanguini here if it isn't quite -- Sanguini, stay here!" added Worple, suddenly stern, for the vampire had been edging toward the nearby group of girls, a rather hungry look in his eye. "Here, have a pasty," said Worple, seizing one from a passing elf and stuffing it into Sanguini's hand before turning his attention back to Johnny and Hermione.

"My dears, the gold you could make, you have no idea --"

"I'm definitely interested," said Johnny instantly, always looking for opportunities to make more money for his future family. Johnny held out his hand and Worple shook his hand enthusiastically, beaming. "It'll have to be during the summer holidays, I'm afraid."

"No matter at all!" Worple waved him off. Hermione pulled Johnny after her into the crowd.

"Padma! Padma!"

"Johnny, Hermione! There you are, thank goodness!"

"What's happened to you?" asked Johnny, for Padma looked distinctly disheveled, rather as though she had just fought her way out of a thicket of Devil's Snare.

"Oh, I've just escaped--I mean, I've just left Marcus," she said. "Under the mistletoe," she added in explanation, as Hermione and Johnny continued to look questioningly at her. "I thought he'd annoy Ron most," said Padma dispassionately. "I debated for a while about Charlotte McLaggen, but I realised we're not bi-- Let's go this way, we'll be able to see him coming, he's so tall..."

The three of them made their way over to the other side of the room, where they met Harry and Luna, scooping up goblets of mead on the way, realising too late that Professor Trelawney was standing there alone.

"Hello," said Luna politely to Professor Trelawney.

"Good evening, my dear," said Professor Trelawney, focusing upon Luna with some difficulty. Johnny could smell cooking sherry again. "I haven't seen you in my classes lately..."

"No, I've got Firenze this year," said Luna.

"Oh, of course," said Professor Trelawney with an angry, drunken titter. "Or Dobbin, as I prefer to think of him. You would have thought, would you not, that now I am returned to the school Professor Dumbledore might have got rid of the horse? But no... we share classes... It's an insult, frankly, an insult. Do you know..."

Professor Trelawney seemed too tipsy to have recognised Harry or Johnny. Under cover of her furious criticisms of Firenze, Harry and Johnny drew closer to Hermione and Harry went to ask Padma something, but she moved so fast it was as though she had Disapparated; one moment she was there, the next, she had squeezed between two guffawing witches and vanished.

"Seen Padma?" asked Belby, forcing his way through the throng a minute later.

"No, sorry," said Hermione, and they turned quickly to join in Luna's conversation, forgetting for a split second to whom she was talking.

"Harry Potter and Johnathan Grindelwald!" said Professor Trelawney in deep, vibrant tones, noticing them for the first time.

"Oh, hello," said Harry and Johnny unenthusiastically in unison.

"My dear boys!" she said in a very carrying whisper. "The rumors! The stories! The Chosen Ones! Of course, I have known for a very long time... the omens were never good, boys... but why have you not returned to Divination? For the both of you, of all people, the subject is of the utmost importance!"

"Ah, Sybill, we all think our subject's most important!" said a loud voice, and Slughorn appeared at Professor Trelawney's other side, his face very red, his velvet hat a little askew, a glass of mead in one hand and an enormous mince pie in the other. "But I don't think I've ever known such naturals at Potions!" said Slughorn, regarding Harry and Johnny with a fond, if bloodshot, eye. "Instinctive, you know--like their mothers! I've only ever taught a few with this kind of ability, I can tell you that, Sybill--why even Severus --"

Slughorn threw out an arm and seemed to scoop Snape out of thin air toward them.

"Stop skulking and come and join us, Severus!" hiccuped Slughorn happily. "I was just talking about Harry and Johnny's exceptional potion-making! Some credit must go to you, of course, you taught them for five years!"

Trapped, with Slughorn's arm around his shoulders, Snape looked down his hooked nose at Harry, his black eyes narrowed.

"Funny, I never had the impression that I managed to teach Potter anything at all."

"Well, then, it's natural ability!" shouted Slughorn. "You should have seen what they gave me, first lesson, Draught of Living Deaths --never had students produce finer on a first attempt, I don't think even you, Severus --"

"Really?" said Snape quietly, his eyes still boring into Harry, who felt a certain disquiet. "Although, it was quite expected from Mr. Grindelwald, I always considered him a brilliant Potion Master, maybe even better than myself."

"Remind me what other subjects you're taking, boys?" asked Slughorn .

"Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology..." said Johnny and Harry in unison.

"All the subjects required, in short, for an Auror and a Hogwarts Professor," said Snape with the faintest sneer at Harry.

"Yeah, well, that's what I'd like to do," said Harry defiantly.

"And a great one you'll make too!" boomed Slughorn. "Same with you, Johnny! You might just take my job one day!"

"I don't think you should be an Auror, Harry," said Luna unexpectedly. Everybody looked at her. "The Aurors are part of the Rotfang Conspiracy, I thought everyone knew that. They're planning to bring down the Ministry of Magic from within using a combination of Dark Magic and gum disease."

Johnny inhaled half his mead up his nose as he started to laugh. Emerging, from his goblet, coughing, sopping wet but still grinning, he saw something calculated to raise his spirits even higher: Draco Malfoy... being dragged by the ear toward them by Argus Filch.

"Professor Slughorn," wheezed Filch, his jowls aquiver and the maniacal light of mischief-detection in his bulging eyes, "I discovered this boy lurking in an upstairs corridor. He claims to have been invited to your party and to have been delayed in setting out. Did you issue him with an invitation?"

Malfoy pulled himself free of Filch's grip, looking furious.

"All right, I wasn't invited!" he said angrily. "I was trying to gatecrash, happy?"

"No, I'm not!" said Filch, a statement at complete odds with the glee on his face. "You're in trouble, you are! Didn't the Headmaster say that night-time prowling is out, unless you've got permission, didn't he, eh?"

"That's all right, Argus, that's all right," said Slughorn, waving a hand. "It's Christmas, and it's not a crime to want to come to a party. Just this once, we'll forget any punishment; you may stay, Draco."

Filich's expression of outraged disappointment was perfectly predictable; but why, Johnny wondered, watching him, did Draco look almost equally unhappy? And why was Snape looking at Draco as though both angry and... was it possible? ... a little afraid?

But almost before Johnny had registered what he had seen, Filch had turned and shuffled away, muttering under his breath; Draco had composed his face into a smile and was thanking Slughorn for his generosity, and Snape's face was smoothly inscrutable again.

"It's nothing, nothing," said Slughorn, waving away Draco's thanks. "I did know your grandfather, after all...."

"He always spoke very highly of you, sir," said Draco quickly. "Said you were the best potion-maker he'd ever known..."

It wasn't the sucking-up that intrigued Johnny; he had watched Draco do that to Snape for a long time. It was the fact that Draco did, after all, look a little ill. This was the first time he had seen Malfoy close up for ages; he now saw that Draco had dark shadows under his eyes and a distinctly grayish tinge to his skin.

"I'd like a word with you, Draco," said Snape suddenly.

"Now, Severus," said Slughorn, hiccuping again, "it's Christmas, don't be too hard--"

"I'm his Head of House, and I shall decide how hard, or otherwise, to be," said Snape curtly. "Follow me, Draco."

They left, Snape leading the way, Draco looking resentful. He turned to Hermione, kissed her cheek and said , "I'll be back in a bit, darling --er-- bathroom."

Harry, who used the same excuse with Luna, followed Johnny. It was easy, once out of the party, to pull Harry's Invisibility Cloak out of his pocket and throw it over themselves, for the corridor was quite deserted. What was more difficult was finding Snape and Malfoy. Harry and Johnny ran down the corridor, the noise of their feet masked by the music and loud talk still issuing from Slughorn's office behind them. Perhaps Snape had taken Malfoy to his office in the dungeons ... or perhaps he was escorting him back to the Slytherin common room...

"... cannot afford mistakes, Draco, because if you are expelled --"

"I didn't have anything to do with it, all right?"

"I hope you are telling the truth, because it was both clumsy and foolish. Already you are suspected of having a hand in it."

"Who suspects me?" said Malfoy angrily. "For the last time, I didn't do it, okay? That Bell girl must've had an enemy no one knows about--don't look at me like that! I know what you're doing, I'm not stupid, but it won't work--I can stop you!"

There was a pause and then Snape said quietly, "Ah... Aunt Bellatrix has been teaching you Occlumency, I see. What thoughts are you trying to conceal from your master, Draco?"

"I'm not trying to conceal anything from him, I just don't want you butting in!"

Harry and Johnny pressed their ears more closely against the keyhole... what had happened to make Malfoy speak to Snape like this--Snape, toward who he had always shown respect, even liking?

"So that is why you have been avoiding me this term? You have feared my interference? You realise that, had anybody else failed to come to my office when I had told them repeatedly to be there, Draco--"

"So put me in detention! Report me to Dumbledore!" jeered Malfoy.

There was another pause. Then Snape said, "You know perfectly well that I do not wish to do either of those things."

"You'd better stop telling me to come to your office then!"

"Listen to me," said Snape, his voice so low now that they had to push their ears very hard against the keyhole to hear. "I am trying to help you. I swore to your mother I would protect you. I made the Unbreakable Vow, Draco--"

"Looks like you'll have to break it, then, because I don't need your protection! It's my job, he gave it to me and I'm doing it, I've got a plan and it's going to work, it's just taking a bit longer than I thought it would!"

"What is your plan?"

"It's none of your business!"

"If you tell me what you are trying to do, I can assist you..."

"I have all the assistance I need, thanks, I'm not alone!"

"You were certainly alone tonight, which was foolish in the extreme, wandering the corridors without lookouts or backup, these are elementary mistakes--"

"I would've had Crabbe and Goyle with me if you hadn't put them in detention!"

"Keep your voice down!" spat Snape, for Malfoy's voice had risen excitedly. "If your friends Crabbe and Goyle intend to pass their Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. this time around, they will need to work a little harder than they are doing at pres--"

"What does it matter?" said Malfoy. "Defense Against the Dark Arts--it's all just a joke, isn't it, an act? Like any of us need protecting against the Dark Arts--"

"It is an act that is crucial to success, Draco!" said Snape. "Where do you think I would have been all these years, if I had not known how to act? Now listen to me! You are being incautious, wandering around at night, getting yourself caught, and if you are placing your reliance in assistants like Crabbe and Goyle--"

"They're not the only ones, I've got other people on my side, better people!"

"Then why not confide in me, and I can--"

"I know what you're up to! You want to steal my glory!"

There was another pause, then Snape said coldly, "You are speaking like a child. I quite understand that your father's capture and imprisonment has upset you, but--"

Harry and Johnny had barely a second's warning; they heard Malfoy's footsteps on the other side of the door and flung themselves out of the way just as it burst open. Malfoy was striding away down the corridor, past the open door of Slughorn's office, around the distant corner, and out of sight.

Johnny had spent his Christmas at the Granger's house with Evelyn. It had been a very happy occasion, Johnny even got to see a drunk Hermione singing Christmas songs. However, Christmas was a week ago, and it was now 1997. Hermione and Johnny were making their way up to the Gryffindor common room only to see Harry, Ginny and Ron waiting outside the portrait hole. The couple still not having forgiven Ron for his actions, greeted Harry and Ginny enthusiastically.

"Harry! Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed. "We got back a couple of hours ago, we've just been down to visit Hagrid and Buck--I mean Witherwings," she said breathlessly. "Did you have a good Christmas?"

"Yeah," said Ron at once, "pretty eventful, Rufus Scrim--"

"Dumbledore wants to see us tomorrow night, Harry," said Johnny, neither looking at Ron nor giving any sign that he had heard him. "Oh, hang on--password. Abstinence."

"Precisely," said the Fat Lady in a feeble voice, and swung forward to reveal the portrait hole.

"What's up with her?" asked Harry, nodding at the Fat Lady.

"Overindulged over Christmas, apparently," said Hermione, rolling her eyes as she led the way into the packed common room. "She and her friend Violet drank their way through all the wine in that picture of drunk monks down by the Charms corridor."

"Anyway, like I said, Dumbledore wants to see us tomorrow," said Johnny.

"Great," said Harry. "I've got loads to tell him--and you. Let's sit down --"

But at that moment there was a loud squeal of "Won-Won!" and Lavender Brown came hurtling out of nowhere and flung herself into Ron's arms. Several onlookers sniggered; Hermione said, "There's a table over here... coming, Ginny?"

"No, thanks, I said I'd meet Dean," said Ginny,. Leaving Ron and Lavender locked in a kind of vertical wrestling, match, Harry led Hermione over to the spare table.

"So how was your Christmas?" Harry asked.

"Brilliant," Johnny grinned enthusiastically, wrapping an arm around Hermione's shoulder. "I got to see drunk Hermione belt "All I Want For Christmas Is You."

Johnny and Harry burst into laughter, while Hermione blushed and nudged her boyfriend.

"How was it at Won-Won's?"

"I'll tell you in a minute," said Harry. "Look, guys, can't you --"

"No, we can't," Hermione said flatly. "So don't even ask."

"I thought maybe, you know, over Christmas --"

"It was the Fat Lady who drank a vat of five-hundred-year-old wine, Harry, not us. So what was this important news you wanted to tell Johnny and me?"

She looked too fierce to argue with at that moment, so Harry dropped the subject of Ron and recounted all that he and Johnny had overheard between Malfoy and Snape.

When he had finished, Hermione sat in thought for a moment and then said, "Don't you think--?"

"-- he was pretending to offer help so that he could trick Malfoy into telling him what he's doing?"

"Well, yes," said Hermione.

"Ron's dad and Lupin think so," Harry said grudgingly. "But this definitely proves Malfoy's planning something, you can't deny that."

"No, I can't," she answered slowly.

"And he's acting on Voldemort's orders, just like I said!"

"Hmm... no one mentioned Voldemort's name though," said Johnny, thinking back to that night/

Harry frowned, trying to remember.

"I'm not sure... Snape definitely said 'your master,' and who else would that be?"

"I don't know," said Hermione, biting her lip. "Maybe his father?"

"Wanky," said Johnny, snickering.

"How's Lupin?" Hermione asked, ignoring her childish boyfriend who was still snickering to himself.

"Not great," said Harry, and he told them all about Lupin's mission among the werewolves and the difficulties he was facing. "Have you heard of this Fenrir Greyback?"

"Course we have," said Johnny, back in serious mode. "Hermione and I are the King and Queen, remember? And you've heard of him too, Harry."

"When, History of Magic? You know full well I never listened ..."

"No, no, not History of Magic -- Malfoy threatened Borgin with him!" said Johnny, slamming the palm of his hand into the table. "Back in Knockturn Alley, don't you remember? He told Borgin that Greyback and my father was old family friends and that they'd be checking up on Borgin's progress!"

Harry gaped at him. "I forgot! But this proves Malfoy is a Death Eater, how else could he be in contact with Greyback and telling him what to do?"

"It is pretty suspicious," breathed Hermione. "Unless..."

"Oh, come on," said Harry in exasperation, "you can't get round this one!"

"Well... there is the possibility it was an empty threat."

"You're unbelievable, you are," said Harry, shaking his head. "We'll see who's right... You'll be eating your words, Hermione, just like the Ministry. Oh yeah, I had a row with Rufus Scrimgeour as well..."

And the rest of the evening passed amicably with all three of them abusing the Minister of Magic, for Hermione, like Ron, thought that after all the Ministry had put Harry through the previous year, they had a great deal of nerve asking him for help now.

The new term started next morning with a pleasant surprise for the sixth-years: a large sign had been pinned to the common room notice boards overnight.

APPARITION LESSONS

If you are seventeen years of age, or will turn seventeen on or before the 31st August next, you are eligible for a twelve-week course of Apparition Lessons from a Ministry of Magic Apparition instructor.

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"Well I already have my apparition license," said Johnny cockily to a group of second years who were asking what all the fuss was about. "Had it since I was twelve, thank you Grandfather."

The lamps in Dumbledore's office were lit, the portraits of previous headmasters were snoring gently in their frames, and the Pensieve was ready upon the desk once more. Dumbledore's hands lay on either side of it, the right one as blackened and burnt-looking as ever. It didn't seem to have healed at all and Johnny wondered, for perhaps the hundredth time, what had caused such a distinctive injury, but didn't ask; Dumbledore had said that they would know eventually and there was, in any case, another subject he wanted to discuss. But before Harry and Johnny could say anything about Snape and Malfoy, Dumbledore spoke.

"I hear that you met the Minister of Magic over Christmas, Harry?"

"Yes," said Harry. "He's not very happy with me."

"No," sighed Dumbledore. "He is not very happy with me either. We must try not to sink beneath our anguish, Harry, but battle on."

Harry grinned.

"He wanted me to tell the wizarding community that the Ministry's doing a wonderful job."

Dumbledore smiled.

"It was Fudge's idea originally, you know. During his last days in office, when he was trying desperately to cling to his post, he sought a meeting with you both, hoping that you would give him your support --"

"After everything Fudge did last year?" said Johnny angrily. "After Umbridge? After sending me to Azkaban for three weeks on false allegations?"

"I told Cornelius there was no chance of it, but the idea did not die when he left office. Within hours of Scrimgeour's appointment we met and he demanded that I arrange a meeting with you --"

"So that's why you argued!" Harry blurted out. "It was in the Daily Prophet."

"The Prophet is bound to report the truth occasionally," said Dumbledore, "if only accidentally. Yes, that was why we argued. Well, it appears that Rufus found a way to corner you at last."

"Thankfully he didn't come for a visit," Johnny smiled.

"He accused me of being 'Dumbledore's man through and through'," said Harry.

"How very rude of him."

"I told him I was."

Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. Behind Harry, Fawkes the phoenix let out a low, soft, musical cry. To Johnny's surprise, he noticed that Dumbledore's blue eyes looked quite watery. When Dumbledore spoke, however, his voice was quite steady.

"I am very touched, Harry."

"Scrimgeour wanted to know where you go when you're not at Hogwarts," said Harry, looking fixedly at his knees.

"Yes, he is very nosy about that," said Dumbledore, now sounding cheerful, and Harry thought it safe to look up again. "He has even attempted to have me followed. Amusing, really. He set Dawlish to tail me. It wasn't kind. I have already been forced to jinx Dawlish once; I did it again with the greatest regret."

"So they still don't know where you go?" asked Johnny, hoping for more information on this intriguing subject, but Dumbledore merely smiled over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

"No, they don't, and the time is not quite right for you to know either. Now, I suggest we press on, unless there's anything else--?"

"There is, actually, sir," said Harry. "It's about Malfoy and Snape."

"Professor Snape, Harry."

"Yes, sir. Johnny and I overheard them during Professor Slughorn's party... well, we followed them, actually..."

Dumbledore listened to Harry's story with an impassive face. When Harry had finished he didn't speak for a few moments, then said, "Thank you for telling me this, Harry, but I suggest that you put it out of your mind. I do not think that it is of great importance."

"Not of great importance?" repeated Johnny incredulously before Harry could speak. "Professor, did you understand--?"

"Yes, Johnny, blessed as I am with extraordinary brainpower, I understood everything Harry told me," said Dumbledore, a little sharply. "I think you might even consider the possibility that I understood more than you did. Again, I am glad that you have both confided in me, but let me reassure you both that you have not told me anything that causes me disquiet."

"So, sir," said Harry, in what he hoped was a polite, calm voice, "you definitely still trust -- ?"

"I have been tolerant enough to answer that question already," said Dumbledore, but he didn't sound very tolerant anymore. "My answer has not changed."

"I should think not," said a snide voice; Phineas Nigellus was evidently only pretending to be asleep. Dumbledore ignored him.

"And now, boys, I must insist that we press on. I have more important things to discuss with you this evening."

As though he had read Johnny's mind, Dumbledore shook his head.

"Ah, Johnny, how often this happens, even between the best of friends! Each of us believes that what he has to say is much more important than anything the other might have to contribute!"

"I don't think what you've got to say is unimportant, sir," said Johnny stiffly.

"Well, you are quite right, because it is not," said Dumbledore briskly. "I have two more memories to show you this evening, both obtained with enormous difficulty, and the second of them is, I think, the most important I have collected."

"So," said Dumbledore, in a ringing voice, "we meet this evening to continue the tale of Tom Riddle, whom we left last lesson poised on the threshold of his years at Hogwarts. You will remember how excited he was to hear that he was a wizard, that he refused my company on a trip to Diagon Alley, and that I, in turn, warned him against continued thievery when he arrived at school.

"Well, the start of the school year arrived and with it came Tom Riddle, a quiet boy in his second-hand robes, who lined up with the other first years to be sorted. He was placed in Slytherin House almost the moment that the Sorting Hat touched his head," continued Dumbledore, waving his blackened hand toward the shelf over his head where the Sorting Hat sat, ancient and unmoving. "How soon Riddle learned that the famous founder of the House could talk to snakes, I do not know -- perhaps that very evening. The knowledge can only have excited him and increased his sense of self-importance.

"However, if he was frightening or impressing fellow Slytherins with displays of Parseltongue in their common room, no hint of it reached the staff. He showed no sign of outward arrogance or aggression at all. As an unusually talented and very good-looking orphan, he naturally drew attention and sympathy from the staff almost from the moment of his arrival. He seemed police, quiet, and thirsty for knowledge. Nearly all were most favorably impressed by him."

"Didn't you tell them, sir, what he'd been like when you met him at the orphanage?" asked Johnny.

"No, I did not. Though he had shown no hint of remorse, it was possible that he felt sorry for how he had behaved before and was resolved to turn over a fresh leaf. I chose to give him that chance."

"But you didn't really trust him, sir, did you? He told me... the Riddle who came out of that diary said, 'Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did'," said Harry, remembering the time he talked to the diary.

"Let us say that I did not take it for granted that he was trustworthy," said Dumbledore. "I had, as I have already indicated, resolved to keep a close eye upon him, and so I did. I cannot pretend that I gleaned a great deal from my observations at first. He was very guarded with me; he felt, I am sure, that in the thrill of discovering his true identity he had told me a little too much. He was careful never to reveal as much again, but he could not take back what he had let slip in his excitement, nor what Mrs. Cole had confided in me. However, he had the sense never to try and charm me as he charmed so many of my colleagues.

"As he moved up the school, he gathered about him a group of dedicated friends; I call them that, for want of a better term, although as I have already indicated, Riddle undoubtedly felt no affection for any of them. This group had a kind of dark glamour within the castle. They were a motley collection; a mixture of the weak seeking protection, the ambitious seeking some shared glory, and the thuggish gravitating toward a leader who could show them more refined forms of cruelty. In other words, they were the forerunners of the Death Eaters, and indeed some of them became the first Death Eaters after leaving Hogwarts.

"Rigidly controlled by Riddle, they were never detected in open wrong-doing, although their seven years at Hogwarts were marked by a number of nasty incidents to which they were never satisfactorily linked, the most serious of which was, of course, the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, which resulted in the death of a girl. As you know, Hagrid was wrongly accused of that crime.

"I have not been able to find many memories of Riddle at Hogwarts," said Dumbledore, placing his withered hand on the Pensieve. "Few who knew him then are prepared to talk about him; they are too terrified. What I know, I found out after he had left Hogwarts, after much painstaking effort, after tracing those few who could be tricked into speaking, after searching old records and questioning Muggle and wizard witnesses alike.

"Those whom I could persuade to talk told me that Riddle was obsessed with his parentage. This is understandable, of course; he had grown up in an orphanage and naturally wished to know how he came to be there. It seems that he searched in vain for some trace of Tom Riddle senior on the shields in the trophy room, on the lists of prefects in the old school records, even in the books of Wizarding history. Finally he was forced to accept that his father had never set foot in Hogwarts. I believe that it was then that he dropped the name forever, assumed the identity of Lord Voldemort, and began his investigations into his previously despised mother's family--the woman whom, you will remember, he had thought could not be a witch if she had succumbed to the shameful human weakness of death.

"All he had to go upon was the single name 'Marvolo,' which he knew from those who ran the orphanage had been his mother's father's name. Finally, after painstaking research, through old books of Wizarding families, he discovered the existence of Slytherin's surviving line. In the summer of his sixteenth year, he left the orphanage to which he returned annually and set off to find his Gaunt relatives. And now, boys, if you will stand ..."

Dumbledore rose, and Johnny saw that he was again holding a small crystal bottle filled with swirling, pearly memory.

"I was very lucky to collect this," he said, as he poured the gleaming mass into the Pensieve. "As you will understand when we have experienced it. Shall we?"

Johnny stepped up to the stone basin and bowed obediently until his face sank through the surface of the memory; he felt the familiar sensation of falling through nothingness and then landed upon a dirty stone floor in almost total darkness.

It took him several seconds to recognise the place, by which time Dumbledore and Harry had landed beside him. The Gaunts' house was now more indescribably filthy than anywhere Johnny had ever seen. The ceiling was thick with cobwebs, the floor coated in grime; moldy and rotting food lay upon the table amidst a mass of crusted pots. The only light came from a single guttering candle placed at the feet of a man with hair and beard so overgrown Johnny could see neither eyes nor mouth. He was slumped in an armchair by the fire, and Johnny wondered for a moment whether he was dead. But then there came a loud knock on the door and the man jerked awake, raising a wand in his right hand and a short knife in his left.

The door creaked open. There on the threshold, holding an old-fashioned lamp, stood a boy Johnny recognised at once: tall, pale, dark-haired, and handsome--the teenage Voldemort.

Voldemort's eyes moved slowly around the hovel and then found the man in the armchair. For a few seconds they looked at each other, then the man staggered upright, the many empty bottles at his feet clattering and tinkling across the floor.

"YOU!" he bellowed. "YOU!"

And he hurtled drunkenly at Riddle, wand and knife held aloft.

Riddle spoke in Parseltongue. The man skidded into the table, sending moldy pots crashing to the floor. He stared at Riddle. There was a long silence while they contemplated each other. The man broke it.

"You speak it?"

"Yes, I speak it," said Riddle. He moved forward into the room, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. Johnny couldn't help but feel a resentful admiration for Voldemort's complete lack of fear. His face merely expressed disgust and, perhaps, disappointment.

"Where is Marvolo?" he asked.

"Dead," said the other. "Died years ago, didn't he?"

Riddle frowned.

"Who are you, then?"

"I'm Morfin, ain't I?"

"Marvolo's son?"

"'Course I am, then..."

Morfin pushed the hair out of his dirty face, the better to see Riddle, and Johnny saw that he wore Marvolo's black-stoned ring on his right hand.

"I thought you was that Muggle," whispered Morfin. "You look mighty like that Muggle."

"What Muggle?" said Riddle sharply.

"That Muggle what my sister took a fancy to, that Muggle what lives in the big house over the way," said Morfin, and he spat unexpectedly upon the floor between them. "You look right like him. Riddle. But he's older now, i'n 'e? He's older'n you, now I think on it..."

Morfin looked slightly dazed and swayed a little, still clutching the edge of the table for support.

"He come back, see," he added stupidly.

Voldemort was gazing at Morfin as though appraising his possibilities. Now he moved a little closer and said, "Riddle came back?"

"Ar, he left her, and serve her right, marrying filth!" said Morfin, spitting on the floor again. "Robbed us, mind, before she ran off. Where's the locket, eh, where's Slytherin's locket?"

Voldemort didn't answer. Morfin was working himself into a rage again; he brandished his knife and shouted, "Dishonored us, she did, that little slut! And who're you, coming here and asking questions about all that? It's over, innit... it's over..."

He looked away, staggering slightly, and Voldemort moved forward. As he did so, an unnatural darkness fell, extinguishing Voldemort's lamp and Morfin's candle, extinguishing everything... Dumbledore's fingers closed tightly around Johnny's arm and they were soaring back into the present again. The soft golden light in Dumbledore's office seemed to dazzle Johnny's eyes after that impenetrable darkness.

"Is that all?" said Harry first. "Why did it go dark, what happened?"

"Because Morfin could not remember anything from that point onward," said Dumbledore, gesturing the boys back into their seats. "When he awoke next morning, he was lying on the floor, quite alone. Marvolo's ring had gone.

"Meanwhile, in the village of Little Hangleton, a maid was running along the High Street, screaming that there were three bodies lying in the drawing room of the big house: Tom Riddle Senior and his mother and father.

"The Muggle authorities were perplexed. As far as I am aware, they do not know to this day how the Riddles died, for the Avada Kedavra Curse does not usually leave any sign of damage... the exception sits before me," Dumbledore added, with a nod to Harry's scar. "The Ministry, on the other hand, knew at once that this was a wizard's murder. They also knew that a convicted Muggle-hater lived across the valley from the Riddle house, a Muggle-hater who had already been imprisoned once for attacking one of the murdered people.

"So the Ministry called upon Morfin. They did not need to question him, to use Veritaserum or Legilimency. He admitted to the murder on the spot, giving details only the murderer could know. He was proud, he said, to have killed the Muggles, had been awaiting his chance all these years. He handed over his wand, which was proved at once to have been used to kill the Riddles. And he permitted himself to be led off to Azkaban without a fight. All that disturbed him was the fact that his fathers ring had disappeared. 'He'll kill me for losing it,' he told his captors over and over again. 'He'll kill me for losing his ring.' And that, apparently, was all he ever said again. He lived out the remainder of his life in Azkaban, lamenting the loss of Marvolo's last heirloom, and is buried beside the prison, alongside the other poor souls who have expired within its walls."

Johnny shivered, remembering that horrible time.

"So Voldemort stole Morfin's wand and used it?" said Harry, sitting up straight.

"That's right," said Dumbledore. "We have no memories to show us this, but I think we can be fairly sure what happened. Voldemort Stupefied his uncle, took his wand, and proceeded across the valley to 'the big house over the way.' There he murdered the Muggle man who had abandoned his witch mother, and, for good measure, his Muggle grandparents, thus obliterating the last of the unworthy Riddle line and revenging himself upon the father who never wanted him. Then he returned to the Gaunt hovel, performed the complex bit of magic that would implant a false memory in his uncle's mind, laid Morfin's wand beside its unconscious owner, pocketed the ancient ring he wore, and departed."

"And Morfin never realised he hadn't done it?" Johnny spoke up.

"Never," said Dumbledore. "He gave, as I say, a full and boastful confession."

"But he had this real memory in him all the time!"

"Yes, but it took a great deal of skilled Legilimency to coax it out of him," said Dumbledore, "and why should anybody delve further into Morfin's mind when he had already confessed to the crime? However, I was able to secure a visit to Morfin in the last weeks of his life, by which time I was attempting to discover as much as I could about Voldemort's past. I extracted this memory with difficulty. When I saw what it contained, I attempted to use it to secure Morfin's release from Azkaban. Before the Ministry reached their decision, however, Morfin had died."

"But how come the Ministry didn't realise that Voldemort had done all that to Morfin?" Johnny asked. "He was underage at the time, wasn't he? Only someone really powerful can help break it!"

"You are quite right--they can detect magic, but not the perpetrator: you will remember, Harry, that you were blamed by the Ministry for the Hover Charm that was, in fact, cast by --"

"Dobby," growled Harry; this injustice still rankled. "So if you're underage and you do magic inside an adult witch or wizard's house, the Ministry won't know?"

"They will certainly be unable to tell who performed the magic," said Dumbledore, smiling slightly at the look of great indignation on their face. "They rely on witch and wizard parents to enforce their offspring's obedience while within their walls."

"Well, that's rubbish," snapped Harry. "Look what happened here, look what happened to Morfin!"

"I agree," said Dumbledore. "Whatever Morfin was, he did not deserve to die as he did, blamed for murders he had not committed. But it is getting late, and I want you to see this other memory before we part..."

Dumbledore took from an inside pocket another crystal phial and they fell silent at once, remembering that Dumbledore had said it was the most important one he had collected. Johnny noticed that the contents proved difficult to empty into the Pensieve, as though they had congealed slightly; did memories go bad?

"This will not take long," said Dumbledore, when he had finally emptied the phial. "We shall be back before you know it. Once more into the Pensieve, then..."

And Johnny fell again through the silver surface, landing this time right in front of a man he recognised at once.

It was a much younger Horace Slughorn. Johnny was so used to him bald that he found the sight of Slughorn with thick, shiny, straw-colored hair quite disconcerting; it looked as though he had had his head thatched, though there was already a shiny Galleon-sized bald patch on his crown. His mustache, less massive than it was these days, was gingery-blond. He wasn't quite as rotund as the Slughorn Harry and Johnny knew, though the golden buttons on his richly embroidered waistcoat were taking a fair amount of strain. His little feet resting upon a velvet pouffe, he was sitting well back in a comfortable winged armchair, one hand grasping a small glass of wine, the other searching through a box of crystallised pineapple.

Johnny looked around as Dumbledore appeared beside them and saw that they were standing in Slughorn's office. Half a dozen boys were sitting around Slughorn, all on harder or lower seats than his, and all in their mid-teens. They recognised Voldemort at once. His was the most handsome face and he looked the most relaxed of all the boys. His right hand lay negligently upon the arm of his chair; with a jolt, Johnny saw that he was wearing Marvolo's gold-and-black ring; he had already killed his father.

"Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?" he asked.

"Tom, Tom, if I knew I couldn't tell you," said Slughorn, wagging a reproving, sugar-covered finger at Riddle, though ruining the effect slightly by winking. "I must say, I'd like to know where you get your information, boy; more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are."

Riddle smiled; the other boys laughed and cast him admiring looks.

"What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn't, and your careful flattery of the people who matter--thank you for the pineapple, by the way, you're quite right, it is my favorite--"

As several of the boys tittered, something very odd happened. The whole room was suddenly filled with a thick white fog, so that they could see nothing but the face of Dumbledore, who was standing beside them. Then Slughorn's voice rang out through the mist, unnaturally loudly: "--you'll go wrong, boy, mark my words."

The fog cleared as suddenly as it had appeared and yet nobody made any allusion to it, nor did anybody look as though anything unusual had just happened. Bewildered, Johnny looked around as a small golden clock standing upon Slughorn's desk chimed eleven o'clock.

"Good gracious, is it that time already?" said Slughorn. "You'd better get going, boys, or we'll all be in trouble. Lestrange, I want your essay by tomorrow or it's detention. Same goes for you, Avery."

Slughorn pulled himself out of his armchair and carried his empty glass over to his desk as the boys filed out. Voldemort, however, stayed behind. They could tell he had dawdled deliberately, wanting to be last in the room with Slughorn.

"Look sharp, Tom," said Slughorn, turning around and finding him still present. "You don't want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and you a prefect..."

"Sir, I wanted to ask you something."

"Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away...."

"Sir, I wondered what you know about... about Horcruxes?"

And it happened all over again: the dense fog filled the room so that they couldn't see Slughorn or Voldemort at all; only Dumbledore, smiling serenely beside them. Then Slughorn's voice boomed out again, just as it had done before.

"I don't know anything about Horcruxes and I wouldn't tell you if I did! Now get out of here at once and don't let me catch you mentioning them again!"

"Well, that's that," said Dumbledore placidly beside them. "Time to go."

And Johnny's feet left the floor to fall, seconds later, back onto the rug in front of Dumbledore's desk.

"That's all there is?" said Johnny blankly.

"That was quick," said Harry, slumping down in his chair.

"That's what she said," said Johnny, snickering to himself.

"As you might have noticed," said Dumbledore, reseating himself behind his desk and ignoring Johnny, "that memory has been tampered with."

"Tampered with?" repeated Johnny, sitting back down too.

"Certainly," said Dumbledore. "Professor Slughorn has meddled with his own recollections."

"But why would he do that?"

"Because, I think, he is ashamed of what he remembers," said Dumbledore. "He has tried to rework the memory to show himself in a better light, obliterating those parts which he does not wish me to see. It is, as you will have noticed, very crudely done, and that is all to the good, for it shows that the true memory is still there beneath the alterations.

"And so, for the first time, I am giving you homework, boys. It will be your jobs to persuade Professor Slughorn to divulge the real memory, which will undoubtedly be our most crucial piece of information of all."

Harry and Johnny stared at him.

"But surely, sir," Harry said, keeping his voice as respectful as possible, "you don't need us --you could use Legilimency... or Veritaserum..."

"Professor Slughorn is an extremely able wizard who will be expecting both," said Dumbledore. "He is much more accomplished at Occlumency than poor Morfin Gaunt, and I would be astonished if he has not carried an antidote to Veritaserum with him ever since I coerced him into giving me this travesty of a recollection.

"No, I think it would be foolish to attempt to wrest the truth from Professor Slughorn by force, and might do much more harm than good; I do not wish him to leave Hogwarts. However, he has his weaknesses like the rest of us, and I believe that you are two people who might be able to penetrate his defenses. It is most important that we secure the true memory, boys... how important, we will only know when we have seen the real thing. So, good luck... and goodnight."

"He must be determined to hide what really happened if Dumbledore couldn't get it out of him," Hermione said in a low voice, as Johnny and Harry confided in her about Horcruxes at break. "Horcruxes... Horcruxes... I've never even heard of them ..."

"You haven't?"

Johnny was disappointed; he had hoped that Hermione might have been able to give them a clue as to what Horcruxes were.

"They must be really advanced Dark magic, or why would Voldemort have wanted to know about them? I think it's going to be difficult to get the information, you'll have to be very careful about how you approach Slughorn, think out a strategy ..."

"Ron reckons we should just hang back after Potions this afternoon..." said Harry, turning to face Johnny who clenched his jaw.

"Oh, well, if Won-Won thinks that, you'd better do it," Johnny said, flaring up at once. "After all, when has Won-Won's judgement ever been faulty?"

"Johnny, can't you --"

"No!" He said angrily. "He insulted my mother! You're aunt!" and  he stormed away with Hermione, leaving Harry alone and ankle-deep in snow.

Potions lessons were uncomfortable enough these days, seeing as Johnny, Harry, Ron and Hermione had to share a desk. The group was in tatters, and it shown as Hermione and Johnny sat one side of the table, immersed in their own conversation about the future, while Ron sat their awkwardly opposite them, longing to apologise.

"Settle down, settle down, please! Quickly, now, lots of work to get through this afternoon! Golpalott's Third Law ... who can tell me--? But Miss Granger can, of course!"

Hermione recited at top speed: "Golpalott's-Third-Law-states-that-the-antidote-for-a-blended-poison-will-be-equal-to-more-than-the-sum-of-the-antidotes-for-each-of-the-separale-components."

"Precisely!" beamed Slughorn. "Ten points for Gryffindor! Now, if we accept Golpalott's Third Law as true..."

Johnny would have to later ask Hermione if Golpalott's Third Law was in fact true, because he, like the rest of the class, was completely lost. He g;amped at Hermione, who was already watching him with a fond smile on her face.

"I'll help you later," Hermione whispered softly, moving the hair out of Johnny's eyes and kissing his nose lightly, giggling quietly when Johnny scrunched up his nose. "I love you."

"I love you too," Johnny whispered back, taking ahold of her hand underneath the desk.

"... which means, of course, that assuming we have achieved correct identification of the potion's ingredients by Scarpin's Revelaspell, our primary aim is not the relatively simple one of selecting antidotes to those ingredients in and of themselves, but to find that added component which will, by an almost alchemical process, transform these disparate elements--"

"... and so," finished Slughorn, "I want each of you to come and take one of these phials from my desk. You are to create an antidote for the poison within it before the end of the lesson. Good luck, and don't forget your protective gloves!"

Hermione had left her stool and was halfway towards Siughorn's desk before the rest of the class had realised it was time to move, and by the time Harry, Ron and J0hnny returned to the table, she had already tipped the contents of her phial into her cauldron and was kindling a fire underneath it.

"It's a shame that the Prince won't be able to help you much with this, Harry," she said brightly as she straightened up. "You have to understand the principles involved this time. No short cuts or cheats!"

Johnny could tell Harry was seriously annoyed at the fact Hermione was right when he slammed his copy of Advance-Potion Making shut. Johnny, on the other hand, was doing just fine under Hermione's tutelage. She was constantly whispering tips and instructions into his ear, on the odd occasion Hermione's hand would run over Johnny's abs, making him tense. Johnny and Hermione were pouring their antidotes into tubes when Johnny remembered something Professor Snape said in their first ever Potions lesson at Hogwarts.

"A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons."

With a rush, Johnny entered Slughorn's supply closet and saw a box labelled "Bezoars," and hastily moved towards it. He opened the box just as Slughorn called, "Two minutes left, everyone!" Inside were half a dozen shrivelled brown objects, looking more like dried-up kidneys than real stones. Johnny seized two, put the box back in the cupboard and hurried back to his cauldron.

"Extra credit," Johnny muttered to Harry, discreetly passing him the small stone.

"Time's ... UP!" called Slughorn genially. "Well, let's see how you've done! Blaise ... what have you got for me?"

Slowly, Slughorn moved around the room, examining the various antidotes. Nobody had finished the task, although Hermione was trying to cram a few more ingredients into her bottle before Slughorn reached her. Ron had given up completely, and was merely trying to avoid breathing in the putrid fumes issuing from his cauldron. Harry and Johnny stood there waiting, the bezoars clutched in their sweaty hands.

Slughorn reached their table last. He didn't linger over Ron's cauldron, but backed away swiftly, retching slightly.

"And you, boys," he said expectantly, reaching Harry and Johnny. "What have you boys got to show me?"

Harry and Johnny held out their hands, the bezoars sitting on their palms.

Slughorn looked down at them for a full ten seconds. Johnny wondered, for a moment, whether he was going to shout at he and Harry. Then he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

"You've got a nerve, m'boys!" he boomed, taking the bezoars and holding them up so that the class could see them. "Oh, you're like your mothers ... well, I can't fault you... a bezoar would certainly act as an antidote to all these potions!"

Hermione, who was sweaty-faced and had soot on her nose, looked livid. Her half-finished antidote, comprising fifty-two ingredients including a chunk of her own hair, bubbled sluggishly behind Slughorn, who had eyes for nobody but Harry and Johnny.

"And you thought of bezoars all by yourself, did you, boys" Hermione asked through gritted teeth.

"That's the individual spirit a real potion-maker needs!" said Slughorn happily, before Harry or Johnny could reply. "Just like Lily and Evelyn, they had the same intuitive grasp of potion-making... yes, boys, yes, if you've got bezoars to hand, of course that would do the trick... although as they don't work on everything, and are pretty rare, it's still worth knowing how to mix antidotes..."

"Time to pack up!" said Slughorn. "And ten points to Gryffindor and Slytherin for sheer cheek!"

Still chuckling, he waddled back to his desk at the front of the dungeon.

"Cheers," Harry muttered to Johnny, fist bumping his cousin. "Are you asking him or shall I?"

"I'll do it," Johnny assured him. Harry patted Johnny's back and exited. The Slytherin took extra time packing his things away.

"Look sharp now, Johnny, you don't want to be late for your next lesson," said Slughorn affably, snapping the gold clasps shut on his dragonskin briefcase.

"Sir," said Johnny, reminding himself irresistibly of Voldemort, "I wanted to ask you something."

"Ask away, then, my dear boy, ask away ..."

"Sir, I wondered what you know about... about Horcruxes?"

Slughorn froze. His round face seemed to sink in upon itself. He licked his lips and said hoarsely, "What did you say?"

"I asked whether you know anything about Horcruxes, sir. You see--"

"Dumbledore put you up to this," whispered Slughorn.

His voice had changed completely. It wasn't genial any more, but shocked, terrified. He fumbled in his breast pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, mopping his sweating brow.

"Dumbledore's shown you that--that memory," said Slughorn. "Well? Hasn't he?"

"Yes," said Johnny, deciding on the spot that it was best not to lie.

"Yes, of course," said Slughorn quietly, still dabbing at his white face. "Of course... well, if you've seen that memory, Johnny, you'll know that I don't know anything--anything--" he repeated the word forcefully "--about Horcruxes."

He seized his dragonskin briefcase, stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket and marched to the dungeon door.

"Sir," said Johnny desperately, "I just thought there might be a bit more to the memory--"

"Did you?" said Slughorn. "Then you were wrong, weren't you? WRONG!"

He bellowed the last word and, before Johnny could say another word, slammed the dungeon door behind him.

Harry was sympathetic when Johnny told him what happened. Neither Ron nor Hermione was at all sympathetic when Johnny told them of this disastrous interview. Hermione was still seething at the way Harry and Johnny had triumphed without doing the work properly. Ron was resentful that Johnny hadn't slipped him a bezoar, too.

"The last time I checked, Weasley, we weren't fucking friends," Johnny seethed. Johnny took on a softer tone as he turned to speak with Hermione."Look, I had to try and soften him up so I could ask him about Voldemort, didn't I? Oh, will you get a grip!" he added in exasperation, as Ron winced at the sound of the name.

Infuriated by his failure and by Ron and Hermione's attitudes, Johnny brooded for the next few days over what to do next about Slughorn. Harry had let Johnny do this task alone, as he knew Johnny could be very persuasive. Johnny decided that, for the time being, he would let Slughorn think that he had forgotten all about Horcruxes; it was surely best to lull him into a false sense of security before returning to the attack.

When Johnny didn't question Slughorn again, the Potions master reverted to his usual affectionate treatment of him, and appeared to have put the matter from his mind. Johnny awaited an invitation to one of his little evening parties, determined to accept this time. Unfortunately, however, no such invitation arrived. Johnny checked with Harry, Hermione and Ginny: none of them had received an invitation and nor, as far as they knew, had anybody else. Johnny couldn't help wondering whether this meant that Slughorn wasn't quite as forgetful as he appeared, simply determined to give Johnny no additional opportunities to question him.

Meanwhile, the Hogwarts library had failed Hermione for the first time in living memory. She was so shocked, she even forgot that she was annoyed at Harry and Johnny for his trick with the bezoar.

"I haven't found one single explanation of what Horcruxes do!" she told them. "Not a single one! I've been right through the restricted section and even in the most horrible books, where they tell you how to brew the most gruesome potions--nothing! All I could find was this, in the introduction to Magick Most Evil--listen--"of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction" ... I mean, why mention it, then?" she said impatiently, slamming the old book shut; it let out a ghostly wail. "Oh, shut up," she snapped, stuffing it back into her bag.

The snow melted around the school as February arrived, to be replaced by cold, dreary wetness. Purplish-grey clouds hung low over the castle and a constant fall of chilly rain made the lawns slippery and muddy. The upside to this, was that Apparition lessons were taking place, and even though he didn't need them, Johnny was hired by the Ministry to help teach. Ten galleons every ten minutes.

"How did you do?" asked Ron, hurrying towards Harry and Johnny after their first lesson. "I think I felt something the last time I tried--a kind of tingling in my feet."

"I expect your trainers are too small, Won-Won," said a voice behind them, and Hermione stalked past, smirking.

"I didn't feel anything," said Harry, ignoring this interruption. "But I don't care about that now--"

"What d'you mean, you don't care ... don't you want to learn to Apparate?" said Ron incredulously.

"I'm not fussed, really. I prefer flying," said Harry, glancing over his shoulder. "Look, hurry up, will you, there's something I want to do ..."

Perplexed, Ron and Johnny followed Harry back to Gryffindor Tower at a run. They were temporarily detained by Peeves, who had jammed a door on the fourth floor shut and was refusing to let anyone pass until they set fire to their own pants, but Johnny, Harry and Ron simply turned back and took one of their trusted short cuts. Within five minutes, they were climbing through the portrait hole.

"Are you going to tell us what we're doing, then?" asked Johnny, panting slightly.

"Up here," said Harry, and he crossed the common room and led the way through the door to the boys' staircase.

The dormitory was empty. Harry flung open his trunk and began to rummage in it, while Ron and Johnny watched impatiently.

"Harry..."

"Malfoy's using Crabbe and Goyle as lookouts. He was arguing with Crabbe just now. I want to know... aha."

He had found it, a folded square of apparently blank parchment, which he now smoothed out and tapped with the tip of his wand.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good... or Malfoy is, anyway."

At once, the Marauder's Map appeared on the parchment's surface. Here was a detailed plan of every one of the castle's floors and, moving around it, the tiny, labelled black dots that signified each of the castle's occupants.

"Help me find Malfoy," said Harry urgently.

Harry laid the map upon his bed and he, Johnny and Ron leaned over it, searching.

"There!" said Johnny, after a minute or so. "He's in the Slytherin common room, look... with Mia, Pansy, Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle..."

"Well, I'm keeping an eye on him from now on," Harry said firmly. "And the moment I see him lurking somewhere with Crabbe and Goyle keeping watch outside, it'll be on with the old Invisibility Cloak and off to find out what he's--"

He broke off as Neville entered the dormitory, bringing with him a strong smell of singed material, and began rummaging in his trunk for a fresh pair of pants.

February moved towards March with no change in the weather except that it became windy as well as wet. To general indignation, a sign went up on all common-room noticeboards that the next trip into Hogsmeade had been cancelled. Ron was furious.

"It was on my birthday!" he said, "I was looking forward to that!"

"Not a big surprise, though, is it?" said Harry. "Not after what happened to Katie."

She had still not returned from St. Mungo's. What was more, further disappearances had been reported in the Daily Prophet, including several relatives of students at Hogwarts.

"But now all I've got to look forward to is stupid Apparition!" said Ron grumpily. "Big birthday treat..."

"Happy birthday, Ron," said Johnny, entering the Gryffindor boys dormitory on the first of March . "Have a present."

Johnny threw the package across on to Ron's bed, where it joined a small pile of them that must, Johnny assumed, have been delivered by house-elves in the night.

"Cheers," said Ron drowsily, and as he ripped off the paper Harry got out of bed, opened his own trunk and began rummaging in it.

"Nice one, cheers Johnny!" said Ron enthusiastically, waving the new pair of Quidditch Keeper's gloves Johnny had given him.

"No worries... mate?" said Johnny, holding out his hand for a handshake. Ron shook his hand, and then pulled Johnny in for a hug.

"Hey..." said Harry, trying to get their attention. "I don't think Malfoy's in his bed..."

Ron didn't answer; he was too busy unwrapping presents, every now and then letting out an exclamation of pleasure.

"Seriously good haul this year!" he announced, holding up a heavy gold watch with odd symbols around the edge and tiny moving stars instead of hands. "See what Mum and Dad got me? Blimey, I think I'll come of age next year too..."

"It's a Saturday, he's probably shagging Stephanie or something in a broom closet," said Johnny bluntly, inspecting the watch Ron's parents got him.

"Cool," muttered Harry, sparing the watch a glance before peering more closely at the map.

"Want one?" said Ron thickly, holding out a box of Chocolate Cauldrons. Johnny shook his head, slumping down on Nick's empty bed. Ron then proceeded to offer one to Harry.

"No thanks," said Harry, looking up. "Malfoy's gone again!"

"Can't have done," said Johnny, throwing Ron's watch back at him, he then got up and walked into the boys en-suite bathroom to relieve himself. "Come on. If you don't hurry up you'll have to Apparate on an empty-stomach... might make it easier, I suppose...

"Ready?" Johnny said to Ron, emerging from the bathroom. He and Harry was halfway to the dormitory door when they realised that Ron hadn't moved, but was leaning on his bedpost, staring out of the rain-washed window with a strangely unfocused look on his face.

"Ron? Breakfast," said Johnny, snapping his fingers as if he was calling a dig to come.

"I'm not hungry."

Harry and Johnny looked at each other, and then stared at Ron.

"I thought you just said--?"

"--Well, all right, I'll come down with you," sighed Ron, "but I don't want to eat."

Harry and Johnny scrutinised him suspiciously.

"You've just eaten half a box of Chocolate Cauldrons, haven't you?" Harry asked, trying to stifle his laughter.

"It's not that," Ron sighed again. "You... you wouldn't understand."

"Fair enough," said Johnny, albeit puzzled, as he turned to open the door.

"Harry! Johnny!" said Ron suddenly.

"What?" said the two boys in unison, staring at the redhead.

"Boys, I can't stand it!"

"You can't stand what?" asked Harry. Ron was rather pale and looked as though he was about to be sick.

"I can't stop thinking about her!" said Ron hoarsely.

Johnny gaped at him. He hadn't expected this and wasn't sure he wanted to hear it. Yes, Johnny had rekindled their friendship, but if Ron started calling Lavender 'Lav-Lav', he would have to put his foot down.

"Why does that stop you having breakfast?" Harry asked, rubbing his forehead.

"I don't think she knows I exist," said Ron with a desperate gesture.

"She definitely knows you exist," said Johnny, a bewildered laugh escaping his lips. "She keeps snogging you, doesn't she?"

Ron blinked.

"Who're you talking about?"

"Who are you talking about?" said Johnny, with an increasing sense that all reason had dropped out of the conversation. He glanced at Harry, who had sat himself down/

"Romilda Vane," said Ron softly, and his whole face seemed to illuminate as he said it, as though hit by a ray of purest sunlight.

"What the actual fuck is going on?" Asked Johnny rhetorically. "Have I woken up in a alternate dimension where Ron is suddenly in love with someone else? What else is happening? Is my father sane? Does Hermione not love me anymore? The fuck?"

The three boys stared at each other for almost a whole minute, before Harry said, "This is a joke, right? You're joking."

"I think ... guys, I think I love her," said Ron in a strangled voice.

"Fuck me," said Johnny, pinching the bridge if his nose.

"Okay," said Harry, walking up to Ron to get a better look at the glazed eyes and the pallid complexion, "okay ... say that again with a straight face."

"I love her," repeated Ron breathlessly. "Have you seen her hair, it's all black and shiny and silky ... and her eyes? Her big dark eyes? And her--"

"This is really funny and everything," said Johnny impatiently, waving his hand dramatically, "but joke's over, all right? Drop it."

Johnny turned to leave; he had got two steps towards the door when a crashing blow hit him on the right ear. Staggering, he looked round. Ron's fist was drawn right back, his face was contorted with rage; he was about to strike again.

Johnny reacted instinctively; his wand was out of his pocket and the incantation sprang to mind without conscious thought: Levicorpus!

Ron yelled as his heel was wrenched upwards; he dangled helplessly, upside-down, his robes hanging off him.

"What the actual fuck was that for?" Johnny bellowed.

"You insulted her, Johnny! You said it was a joke!" shouted Ron, who was slowly turning purple in the face as all the blood rushed to his head.

"This is insane!" said Harry. "What's got into--? Where did you get those Chocolate Cauldrons?"

"They were a birthday present!" shouted Ron, revolving slowly in midair as he struggled to get free. "I offered you both one, didn't I?"

"You just picked them up off the floor, didn't you?" Harry asked.

"They'd fallen off my bed, all right? Let me go!"

"They didn't fall off your bed, you prat, don't you understand? They were mine, I chucked them out of my trunk when I was looking for the map. They're the Chocolate Cauldrons Romilda gave me before Christmas and they're all spiked with love potion!"

But only one word of this seemed to have registered with Ron.

"Romilda?" he repeated. "Did you say Romilda? Harry--do you know her? Can you introduce me?"

"Dio, so che non parliamo più molto... (God, I know we don't talk much anymore...)" Johnny began praying in Italian, banging his head off of the nearest bedpost. "Ma per favore, dai uno schiaffo a questo figlio di puttana... amen (But please slap some sense into this son of a bitch... amen).

"Yeah, I'll introduce you," said Harry, thinking fast and ignoring Johnny. "Johnny's going to let you down now, okay?"

Johnny sent Ron crashing back to the floor, but Ron simply bounded to his feet again, grinning.

"She'll be in Slughorn's office," said Harry confidently, leading the way to the door. Johnny, catching onto Harry's idea, grinned and nodded.

"Why will she be in there?" asked Ron anxiously, hurrying to keep up.

"Oh, she has extra Potions lessons with him," said Harry, inventing wildly.

"Maybe I could ask if I can have them with her?" said Ron eagerly.

"Brilliant idea, mate," said Johnny, clapping Ron's shoulder.

Lavender was waiting beside the portrait hole, a complication Harry and Johnny hadn't seen.

"You're late, Won-Won!" she pouted. "I've got you a birthday--"

"Leave me alone" said Ron impatiently, "Harry and Johnny are going to introduce me to Romilda Vane."

And without another word to her, he pushed his way out of the portrait hole. Johnny and Harry tried to make an apologetic face to Lavender, but they might've turned out simply amused, because she looked more offended than ever as the Fat Lady swung shut behind them. They had been slightly worried that Slughorn might be at breakfast, but he answered his office door at the first knock, wearing a green velvet dressing-gown and matching nightcap and looking rather bleary-eyed.

"Harry, Johnny," he mumbled. "This is very early for a call... I generally sleep late on a Saturday..."

"Professor, we're really sorry to disturb you," said Johnny as quietly as possible, while Ron stood on tiptoe, attempting to see past Slughorn into his room, "but our friend Ron's swallowed a love potion by mistake. You couldn't make him an antidote, could you? We'd take him to Madam Pomfrey, but we're not supposed to have anything from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and, you know... awkward questions..."

"I'd have thought you could have whipped him up a remedy, boys, expert potioneers like yourselves?" asked Slughorn.

"Er," said Johnny, somewhat distracted by the fact that Ron was now elbowing him in the ribs in an attempt to force his way into the room, "well, we've never mixed an antidote for a love potion, sir, and by the time we get it right Ron might've done something serious--"

Helpfully, Ron chose this moment to moan, "I can't see her. Johnny--is he hiding her?"

"Was this potion within date?" asked Slughorn, now eyeing Ron with professional interest. "They can strengthen, you know, the longer they're kept."

"That would explain a lot," panted Harry, now positively wrestling with Ron to keep him from knocking Slughorn and Johnny over. "It's his birthday, Professor," he added imploringly.

"Oh, all right, come in, then, come in," said Slughorn, relenting."I've got the necessary here in my bag, it's not a difficult antidote..."

Ron burst through the door into Slughorn's overheated, crowded study, tripped over a tasselled footstool, regained his balance by seizing Johnny around the neck and muttered, "She didn't see that, did she?"

"She's not here yet," said Johnny, massaging his throat and watching Slughorn opening his potion kit and adding a few pinches of this and that to a small crystal bottle.

"That's good," said Ron fervently. "How do I look?"

"Very handsome," said Slughorn smoothly, handing Ron a glass of clear liquid. "Now drink that up, it's a tonic for the nerves, keep you calm when she arrives, you know."

"Brilliant," said Ron eagerly, and he gulped the antidote down noisily. Harry and Johnny shared a chuckle. Johnny, Harry and Slughorn watched him. For a moment, Ron beamed at them. Then, very slowly, his grin sagged and vanished, to be replaced by an expression of utmost horror.

"Back to normal, then?" said Harry, grinning. Slughorn and Johnny chuckled. "Thanks a lot, Professor."

"Don't mention it, m'boy, don't mention it," said Slughorn, as Ron collapsed into a nearby armchair, looking devastated. "Pick-me-up, that's what he needs," Slughorn continued, now-bustling over to a table loaded with drinks. "I've got Butterbeer, I've got wine, I've got one last bottle of this oak-matured mead... hmm... meant to give that to Dumbledore for Christmas... ah well..." he shrugged "... he can't miss what he's never had! Why don't we open it now and celebrate Mr Weasley's birthday? Nothing like a fine spirit to chase away the pangs of disappointed love..."

He chortled again and Johnny joined in. This was the first time he had found himself almost alone with Slughorn since his disastrous first attempt to extract the true memory from him. Perhaps, if he could just keep Slughorn in a good mood... perhaps if they got through enough of the oak-matured mead...

"There you are, then," said Slughorn, handing Johnny, Harry and Ron a glass of mead each, before raising his own. "Well, a very happy birthday, Ralph--"

"- Ron--" whispered Harry.

But Ron, who didn't appear to be listening to the toast, had already thrown the mead into his mouth and swallowed it. Johnny had cheered, copying his redheaded friends actions and thrown it back too. There was one second, hardly more than a heartbeat, in which Harry knew there was something terribly wrong and Slughorn, it seemed, didn't.

"--and may you have many more--"

"Ron! Johnny!"

Both boys had dropped their glasses, stood up and dropped to the floor in perfect unison. Both were jerking wildly, foam dribbling down their chins from the poison in the mead.

"Professor!" Harry bellowed. "Do something!"

But Slughorn seemed paralysed by shock. Ron and Johnny twitched and choked: their skin was turning blue.

"What--but--" spluttered Slughorn.

Harry leapt over a low table and sprinted towards Slughorn's open potion kit, pulling out jars and pouches, while the terrible sound of his friends gargling breaths filled the room. Then he found them--the shrivelled kidney-like stones.

He hurtled back to his friends sides, wrenched open their jaws and thrust the bezoars into their mouth. Ron gave a great shudder, a rattling gasp and his body became limp and still. Johnny, however continued to choke, the bezoar falling to the floor.

"Johnny, you've got to take it!" Harry said urgently. Johnny, however, wasn't listening. Each time the bezoar would just fall back to the floor. Finally, Johnny stopped jerking about. Harry hastily put his head to his cousins chest and thankfully heard a heartbeat. It seemed like his inner-wolf had done the job;.

"So, all in all, not one of Ron's better birthdays?" said Fred.

It was evening; the hospital wing was quiet, the windows curtained, the lamps lit. Ron and Johnny were the only people occupying beds. Harry, Padma, Hermione, and Ginny were sitting around them; they had spent all day waiting outside the double doors, trying to see inside whenever somebody went in or out. Madam Pomfrey had only let them enter at eight o'clock. Fred and George had arrived at ten past.

"This isn't how we imagined handing over our present," said George grimly, putting down a large wrapped gift on Ron's bedside cabinet and sitting beside Ginny.

"Yeah, when we pictured the scene, he was conscious," said Fred.

"There we were in Hogsmeade, waiting to surprise him --" said George.

"You were in Hogsmeade?" asked Ginny, looking up.

"We were thinking of buying Zonko's," said Fred gloomily. "A Hogsmeade branch, you know, but a fat lot of good it'll do us if you lot aren't allowed out at weekends to buy our stuff anymore... But never mind that now."

He drew up a chair beside Harry and looked at Ron and Johnny's pale faces.

"How exactly did it happen, Harry?"

Harry retold the story he had already recounted, it felt like a hundred times to Dumbledore, to McGonagall, to Madam Pomfrey, to Padma, Hermione, and to Ginny. Everyone thought Hermione would be out of tears by now, but another loud sob passed through her lips as her trembling hands held onto Johnny tighter.

"... and then I got the bezoar down Ron's throat and his breathing eased up a bit. Johnny's wolf saved him, thankfully. Slughorn ran for help, McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey turned up, and they brought Ron and Johnny up here. They reckon they'll be all right. Madam Pomfrey says they'll have to stay here a week or so... keep taking Essence of Rue..."

"Blimey, it was lucky you thought of bezoars," said George in a low voice.

"Lucky there was one in the room," said Harry.

"Do Mum and Dad know?" Fred asked Ginny. "What about Evelyn?"

"They already seen them, they arrived an hour ago--they're in Dumbledore's office now, but they'll be back soon..."

There was a pause while they all watched Johnny mumble a little in his sleep.

"So the poison was in the drink?" said Fred quietly.

"Yes," said Harry at once; he could think of nothing else and was glad for the opportunity to start discussing it again. "Slughorn poured it out --"

"Would he have been able to slip something into their glasses without you seeing?"

"Probably," said Harry, "but why would Slughorn want to poison Ron of all people?"

"No idea," said Fred, frowning. "You don't think he could have mixed up the glasses by mistake? Meaning to get you and Johnny?"

"Why would Slughorn want to poison Harry?" asked Ginny.

"I dunno," said Fred, "but there must be loads of people who'd like to poison Harry, mustn't there? Being one of the 'Chosen Ones' and all that?"

"So you think Slughorn's a Death Eater?" said Ginny.

"Anything's possible," said Fred darkly.

"He could be under the Imperius Curse," said George.

"Or he could be innocent," said Ginny. "The poison could have been in the bottle, in which case it was probably meant for Slughorn himself."

"Who'd want to kill Slughorn?"

"Dumbledore reckons Voldemort wanted Slughorn on his side," said Harry. "Slughorn was in hiding for a year before he came to Hogwarts. And..." He thought of the memory Dumbledore hadn't yet been able to extract from Slughorn. "And maybe Voldemort wants him out of the way, maybe he thinks he could be valuable to Dumbledore."

"But you said Slughorn had been planning to give that bottle to Dumbledore for Christmas," Ginny reminded him. "So the poisoner could just as easily have been after Dumbledore."

"Then the poisoner didn't know Slughorn very well," said Hermione, speaking for the first time in hours and sounding as though she had a bad head cold. "Anyone who knew Slughorn would have I known there was a good chance he'd keep something that tasty for himself."

"Er-my-nee," croaked Johnny unexpectedly from between them

They all fell silent, watching him anxiously, but after muttering incomprehensibly for a moment he merely started snoring.

The same thing happened with Ron, but he ended up mutter "Pa-my."

The dormitory doors flew open, making them all jump: Hagrid came striding toward them, his hair rain-flecked, his bearskin coat flapping behind him, a crossbow in his hand, leaving a trail of muddy dolphin-sized footprints all over the floor.

"Bin in the forest all day!" he panted. "Aragog's worse, I bin readin' to him--didn' get up ter dinner till jus' now an' then Professor Sprout told me abou' Ron an' Johnny! How are they?"

"Not bad," said Harry. "They say they'll be okay."

"No more than six visitors at a time!" said Madam Pomfrey, hurrying out of her office.

"Hagrid's a Professor," George pointed out.

"O... yes..." said Madam Pomfrey. To cover her confusion, she hurried off to clear up his muddy foot prints with her wand.

"I don' believe this," said Hagrid hoarsely, shaking his great shaggy head as he stared down at Ron and Johnny. "Jus' don' believe it... look at them lyin' there... who'd want ter hurt them, eh?"

"That's just what we were discussing," said Harry. "We don't know."

"Someone couldn' have a grudge against the Gryfinndor Quidditch team, could they?" said Hagrid anxiously. "Firs' Katie, now Ron..."

"And what about Johnny?" Hermione growled, her eyes turning purple for a second as she continued to stare at Johnny's comatose form.

"I can't see anyone trying to bump off a Quidditch team," said George.

"Wood might've done the Slytherins if he could've got away with it," said Fred fairly.

"Well, I don't think it's Quidditch, but I think there's a connection between the attacks," said Padma quietly.

"How d'you work that out?" asked Fred.

"Well, for one thing, they both ought to have been fatal and weren't, although that was pure luck. And for another, neither the poison nor the necklace seems to have reached the person who was supposed to be killed. Of course," Padma added broodingly, "that makes the person behind this even more dangerous in a way, because they don't seem to care how many people they finish off before they actually reach their victim."

Before anybody could respond to this ominous pronouncement, the dormitory doors opened again and Evelyn, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley hurried up the ward. Now Evelyn and Mrs. Weasley wrapped their arms around Harry, both women bringing him in for a bone crushing hug.

"Dumbledore's told us how you saved them," Mrs. Weasley sobbed. "Oh, Harry, what can we say? You saved Ginny... you saved Arthur... now you've saved Ron..."

"Don't be... I didn't..." muttered Harry awkwardly. Evelyn thanked her nephew profusely and made her way towards her son. Evelyn kissed Johnny's forehead, before kissing Hermione[s forehead too.

"Half our family does seem to owe you their lives, now I stop and think about it," Mr. Weasley said in a constricted voice. "Well, all I can say is that it was a lucky day for the Weasleys when Ron decided to sit in your compartment on the Hogwarts Express, Harry."

Harry could not think of any reply to this and was almost glad when Madam Pomfrey reminded them that there were only supposed to be six visitors around Ron and Johnny's beds; Harry, Padma and Hermione rose at once to leave and Hagrid decided to go with them, leaving Ron and Johnny with their families.

The news that Ron and Johnny had been poisoned spread quickly next day, but it didn't cause the sensation that Katie's attack had done. People seemed to think that it might have been an accident, given that they had been in the Potions master's room at the time, and In fact, the Gryffindors were generally much more interested in the upcoming Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, for many of them wanted to see Zacharias Smith, who played Chaser on the Hufflepuff team, punished soundly for his commentary during the opening match against Slytherin.

He Slytherin's however, we're in hysterics. Pansy had almost killed Mia and anyone who had told her to calm down. She had hexed and jinxed anyone who dare told her that it was an accident, as she fully believed it was a planned attack. Draco, weirdly enough, looked rather downtrodden at the news his frenemie was hospitalised.

On the morning of the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, Harry dropped in on the hospital wing before heading down to the pitch. Ron and Johnny were very agitated; Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let them go down to watch the match, feeling it would overexcite the,.

"So how's McLaggen shaping up?" Ron asked Harry nervously, apparently forgetting that he had already asked the same question twice.

"I've told you," said Harry patiently, "he could be world-class and I wouldn't want to keep him. He keeps trying to tell everyone what to do, he thinks he could play every position better than the rest of us. I can't wait to be shot of him. And speaking of getting shot of people," Harry added, getting to his feet and picking up his Firebolt, "will you stop pretending to be asleep when Lavender comes to see you? She's driving me mad as well."

"Oh," said Ron, looking sheepish. "Yeah. All right."

"How do you think I feel?" Johnny asked, picking up a chocolate frog from his bedside and throwing it back. "She'll stay and talk to me for hours! Hours I tell you!"

Harry and Ron shared a laugh at Johnny's expense.

"If you don't want to go out with her anymore, just tell her," said Johnny bluntly.

"Yeah... well... it's not that easy, is it?" said Ron. He paused. "Padma going to look in before the match?" he added casually.

"No, she's already gone down to the pitch with Ginny and Hermione."

"Oh," said Ron, looking rather glum. "Right. Well, good luck. Hope you hammer McLag--I mean Smith."

"I'll try," said Harry, shouldering his broom. "See you after the match."

Johnny and Ron waved. Johnny and Ron spent the next few hours gossiping and catching up, with the occasional topic of conversation being Ron;s feelings towards Padma and Lavender. Madam Pompfry aloud the speakers to broadcast the ongoing Quidditch match, and they had a right laugh when they found out Luna was commentating on the game, and not really paying attention, just sprouting random facts.

Once the match had ended, Harry was rushed into the wing with a large bandage around their head. He was placed on Johnny's right hand side.

"Nice of you to drop in," said Johnny, grinning, when Harry woke up.

"What happened?"

"Cracked skull," said Madam Pomfrey, bustling up and pushing him back against his pillows. "Nothing to worry about, I mended it at once, but I'm keeping you in overnight. You shouldn't overexert yourself for a few hours."

"I don't want to stay here overnight," said Harry angrily, sitting up and throwing back his covers. "I want to find McLaggen and kill her."

"I'm afraid that would come under the heading of 'overexertion,'" said Madam Pomfrey, pushing him firmly back onto the bed and raising her wand in a threatening manner. "You will stay here until I discharge you, Potter, or I shall call the Headmaster."

She bustled back into her office, and Harry sank back into his pillows, fuming.

"D'you know how much we lost by?" he asked Ron and Johnny through clenched teeth.

"Well, yeah we do," said Ron apologetically. "Final score was three hundred and twenty to sixty."

"Brilliant," said Harry savagely. "Really brilliant! When I get hold of McLaggen --"

"You don't want to get hold of her, she'll jump your bones before you have the chance," said Johnny reasonably.

"Anyway, the rest of your team might've dealt with her before you get out of here, they're not happy..." There was a note of badly suppressed glee in Ron's voice; Johnny could tell he was nothing short of thrilled that McLaggen had messed up so badly.

"We could hear the match commentary from here," said Ron, his voice now shaking with laughter. "I hope Luna always commentates from now on... Loser's Lurgy..."

"Ginny came in to visit while you were unconscious," Johnny said, after a long pause, and Harry's imagination zoomed into overdrive, rapidly constructing a scene in which Ginny, weeping over his lifeless form, confessed her feelings of deep attraction to him while Ron gave them his blessing... "She reckons you only just arrived on time for the match. How come? You left here early enough."

"Oh..." said Harry,. "Yeah... well, I saw Malfoy sneaking off with a couple of girls who didn't look like they wanted to be with him, and that's the second time he's made sure he isn't down on the Quidditch pitch with the rest of the school; he skipped the last match too, remember?" Harry sighed. "Wish I'd followed him now, the match was such a fiasco..."

"Don't be stupid," said Ron sharply. "You couldn't have missed a Quidditch match just to follow Malfoy, you're the Captain!"

"I want to know what he's up to," said Harry. "And don't tell me its all in my head, not after what I overheard between him and Snape --"

"We never said it was all in your head," said Johnny, hoisting himself up on an elbow in turn and frowning at Harry, "but there's no rule saying only one person at a time can be plotting anything in this place! You're getting a bit obsessed with Malfoy, Harry. I mean, thinking about missing a match just to follow him ..."

"I want to catch him at it!" said Harry in frustration. "I mean, where's he going when he disappears off the map?"

"I dunno... Hogsmeade?" suggested Ron and Johnny, yawning in unison.

"I've never seen him going along any of the secret passageway on the map. I thought they were being watched now anyway?"

"Well then, I dunno," said Ron.

Silence fell between them.

Johnny, Harry and Ron left the hospital wing first thing on Monday morning, restored to full health by the ministrations of Madam Pomfrey and now able to enjoy the benefits of having been knocked out and poisoned, the best of which was that Hermione and Padma were on good terms with Ron again.

J0hnny had met up with them at the Gryffindor Tower, greeting Hermione with a welcomed kiss. Hermione even escorted them down to breakfast, bringing with her the news that Ginny had argued with Dean.

"What did they row about?" Harry asked, trying to sound casual as they turned onto a seventh-floor corridor that was deserted but for a very small girl who had been examining a tapestry of trolls in tutus. She looked terrified at the sight of the approaching sixth years and dropped the heavy brass scales she was carrying.

"It's all right!" said Hermione kindly, hurrying forward to help her. "Here ..."

She tapped the broken scales with her wand and said, "Reparo." The girl didn't say thank you, but remained rooted to the spot as they passed and watched them out of sight; Johnny glanced back at her.

"I swear they're getting smaller," he said.

"Never mind her," said Harry, a little impatiently. "What did Ginny and Dean row about, Hermione?"

"Oh, Dean was laughing about McLaggen hitting that Bludger at you," said Hermione.

"It must've looked funny," said Ron reasonably.

"It didn't look funny at all!" said Hermione hotly. "It looked terrible and if Nick and Kieran hadn't caught Harry he could have been very badly hurt!"

"Yeah, well, there was no need for Ginny and Dean to split up over it," said Harry, still trying to sound casual. "Or are they still together?"

"Yes, they are--but why are you so interested?" asked Hermione, giving Harry a sharp look. Johnny grinned, discreetly nudging Hermione. A look of realisation came across her face and she shut her mouth.

"Oh, hi, Luna."

"I went to the hospital wing to find you," said Luna, rummaging in her bag. "But they said you'd left..."

She thrust what appeared to be a green onion, a large spotted toadstool, and a considerable amount of what looked like cat litter into Ron's hands, finally pulling out a rather grubby scroll of parchment that she handed to Harry and Johnny.

"... I've been told to give you both this."

It was a small roll of parchment, which Johnny recognised at once as another invitation to a lesson with Dumbledore.

"Tonight," Harry told Ron and Hermione, once he had finished reading over Johnny's shoulder.

"Nice commentary last match!" said Johnny to Luna as she took back the green onion, the toadstool, and the cat litter from Ron. Luna smiled vaguely.

"You're making fun of me, aren't you?" she said. "Everyone says I was dreadful."

"No, I'm serious!" said Johnny earnestly. "I can't remember enjoying commentary more!"

"What is this, by the way?" Ron added, holding the onionlike object up to eye level.

"Oh, it's a Gurdyroot," she said, stuffing the cat litter and the toadstool back into her bag. "You can keep it if you like, I've got a few of them. They're really excellent for warding off Gulping Plimpies."

"You know, she's grown on me, Luna," Ron said, as they set off again for the Great Hall. "I know she's insane, but it's in a good --"

He stopped talking very suddenly. Lavender Brown was standing at the foot of the marble staircase looking thunderous.

"Hi," said Ron nervously.

"C'mon," Johnny muttered to Hermione and Harry, and they sped past, though not before they had heard Lavender say, "Why didn't you tell me you were getting out today? And why was they with you?"

Ron looked both sulky and annoyed when he appeared at breakfast half an hour later, and though he sat with Lavender, Johnny didn't see them exchange a word all the time they were together. At eight o'clock that evening, Johnny met Harry at the entrance to Dumbledore's office.

"Enter," called Dumbledore, but as Johnny put out a hand to push the door, it was wrenched open from inside. There stood Professor Trelawney.

"Aha!" she cried, pointing dramatically at Harry and Johnny as she blinked at them through her magnifying spectacles.

"So this is the reason I am to be thrown unceremoniously from your office, Dumbledore!"

"My dear Sybill," said Dumbledore in a slightly exasperated voice, "there is no question of throwing you unceremoniously from anywhere, but Harry and Johnny do have an appointment, and I really don't think there is any more to be said --"

"Very well," said Professor Trelawney, in a deeply wounded voice. "If you will not banish the usurping nag, so be it... perhaps I shall find a school where my talents are better appreciated..."

She pushed past Harry and Johnny and disappeared down the spiral staircase; they heard her stumble halfway down, and Johnny guessed that she had tripped over one of her trailing shawls.

"Please close the door and sit down, boys," said Dumbledore, sounding rather tired.

Harry and Johnny obeyed, noticing as they took their usual seats in front of Dumbledore's desk that the Pensieve lay between them once more, as did two more tiny crystal bottles full of swirling memory.

"Professor Trelawney still isn't happy Firenze is teaching, then?" Harry asked.

"No," said Dumbledore, "Divination is turning out to be much more trouble than I could have foreseen, never having studied the subject myself. I cannot ask Firenze to return to the forest, where he is now an outcast, nor can I ask Sybill Trelawney to leave. Between ourselves, she has no idea of the danger she would be in outside the castle. She does not know--and I think it would be unwise to enlighten her--that she made the prophecy about you both and Voldemort, you see."

Dumbledore heaved a deep sigh, then said, "But never mind my staffing problems. We have much more important matters to discuss. Firstly--have either of you managed the task I set you at the end of our previous lesson?"

"Ah," said Johnny, brought up short. "Well, I asked Professor Slughorn about it at the end of Potions, sir, but, er, he wouldn't give it to me."

There was a little silence.

"I see," said Dumbledore eventually, peering at Johnny over the top of his half-moon spectacles and giving Johnny the usual sensation that he was being X-rayed. "And you feel that you have exerted your very best efforts in this matter, do you? That you have exercised all of your considerable ingenuity? That you have left no depth of cunning unplumbed in your quest to retrieve the memory?"

"Well," Johnny stalled, at a loss for what to say next. His single attempt to get hold of the memory suddenly seemed embarrassingly feeble. "Well... the day Ron swallowed love potion by mistake Harry and I took him to Professor Slughorn. I thought maybe if I got Professor Slughorn in a good enough mood --"

"And did that work?" asked Dumbledore.

"Well, no, sir, because Ron and I got poisoned --"

"-- which, naturally, meant you couldn't get the memory. I thought I made it clear to the both of you how very important that memory is. Indeed, I did my best to impress upon you that it is the most crucial memory of all and that we will be wasting our time without it."

A hot, prickly feeling of shame spread from the top of Johnny's head all the way down his body. Dumbledore hadn't raised his voice, he didn't even sound angry, but Johnny would have preferred him to yell; this cold disappointment was worse than anything.

"Sir," Johnny said, a little desperately, "it isn't that I wasn't bothered or anything, I've just had other--other thing..."

"Other things on your mind," Dumbledore finished the sentence for him. "I see."

Silence fell between them again, the most uncomfortable silence Johnny had ever experienced with Dumbledore; it seemed to go on and on, punctuated only by the little grunting snores of the portrait of Armando Dippet over Dumbledore's head. Johnny felt strangely diminished, as though he had shrunk a little since he had entered the room.

When he could stand it no longer Harry said, "Professor Dumbledore, we're really sorry. We should have done more... We should have realised you wouldn't have asked us to do it if it wasn't really important."

"Thank you for saying that, Harry," said Dumbledore quietly. "May I hope, then, that you both will give this matter higher priority from now on? There will be little point in our meeting after tonight unless we have that memory."

"We'll do it, sir, we'll get it from him," Harry said earnestly.

"Wait!" Said Johnny so suddenly that Harry and Dumbledore jumped. "I know how to get it from him!"

"Really?" Asked Dumbledore, looking quite interested.

"Hagrid sent us a letter this morning say how his pet spider died!" Johnny said excitedly. "And then Slughorn mentioned how he was going to make sure Hagrid was okay with a few bottles, if I'm assuming alcohol!"

"Then please, try your best," said Dumbledore, realising what Johnny was saying. Johnny sprinted down the halls and finally made it to Hagrid's. Panting, Johnny took a corked bottle of Liquid Luck out of his breast pocket and took three drops for good measure.

"Yeh came," croaked Hagrid, when he opened the door and saw Johnny in front of him.

"Yeah-- Harry, Ron and Hermione couldn't, though," said Johnny. "They're really sorry."

"Don'--don' matter... He'd've bin touched yeh're here, though, Johnny..."

Hagrid gave a great sob. He had made himself a black armband out of what looked like a rag dipped in boot polish, and his eyes were puffy, red, and swollen. Johnny patted him consolingly on the elbow, which was the highest point of Hagrid he could easily reach.

"Where are we burying him?" Johnny asked. "The forest?"

"Blimey, no," said Hagrid, wiping his streaming eyes on the bottom of his shirt. "The other spiders won' let me anywhere near their webs now Aragog's gone. Turns out it was only on his orders they didn' eat me! Can yeh believe that, Johnny?"

The honest answer was "yes"; Johnny recalled with painful ease the scene when he, Harry, and Ron had come face-to-face with the aeromantulas. They had been quite clear that Aragog was the only thing that stopped them from eating Hagrid.

"Never bin an area o' the forest I couldn' go before!" said Hagrid, shaking his head. "It wasn' easy, gettin' Aragog's body out o' there, I can tell yeh--they usually eat their dead, see... but I wanted ter give 'im a nice burial... a proper send-off..."

He broke into sobs again and Johnny resumed the patting of his elbow, saying as he did so (for the potion seemed to indicate that it was the right thing to do), "Professor Slughorn said he's coming down here, Hagrid."

"Not in trouble, are yeh?" said Hagrid, looking up, alarmed. "Yeh shouldn' be outta the castle in the evenin', I know it, it's my fault --"

"No, no, when he heard he said he'd like to come and pay his last respects to Aragog too," said Johnny. "I think... he said he'd bring some bottles so we can drink to Aragog's memory..."

"Did he?" said Hagrid, looking both astonished and touched. "Tha's--tha's righ' nice of him, that is. I've never really had a lot ter do with Horace Slughorn before... comin' ter see old Aragog off, though, eh? Well... he'd've liked that, Aragog would..."

Johnny thought privately that what Aragog would have liked most about Slughorn was the ample amount of edible flesh he provided, but he merely moved to the rear window of Hagrid's hut, where he saw the rather horrible sight of the enormous dead spider lying on its back outside, its legs curled and tangled.

"Are we going to bury him here, Hagrid, in your garden?"

"Jus' beyond the pumpkin patch, I thought," said Hagrid in a choked voice. "I've already dug the -- yeh know--grave. Jus' thought we'd say a few nice things over him--happy memories, yeh know --"

His voice quivered and broke. There was a knock on the door, and he turned to answer it, blowing his nose on his great spotted handkerchief as he did so. Slughorn hurried over the threshold, several bottles in his arms, and wearing a somber black cravat.

"Hagrid," he said, in a deep, grave voice. "So very sorry to hear of your loss."

"Tha's very nice of yeh," said Hagrid. "Thanks a lot..."

"Johnny, what a pleasant surprise," said Slughorn. "Sad night, sad night... where is the poor creature?"

"Out here," said Hagrid in a shaking voice. "Shall we--shall we do it, then?"

The three of them stepped out into the back garden. The moon was glistening palely through the trees now, and its rays mingled with the light spilling from Hagrid's window to illuminate Aragog's body lying on the edge of a massive pit beside a ten-foot-high mound of freshly dug earth.

"Magnificent," said Slughorn, approaching the spider's head, where eight milky eyes stared blankly at the sky and two huge, curved pincers shone, motionless, in the moonlight. Johnny thought he heard the tinkle of bottles as Slughorn bent over the pincers, apparently examining the enormous hairy head.

"It's not ev'ryone appreciates how beau'iful they are," said Hagrid to Slughorn's back, tears leaking from the corners of his crinkled eyes. "I didn' know yeh were interested in creatures like Aragog, Horace."

"Interested? My dear Hagrid, I revere them," said Slughorn, stepping back from the body. Johnny saw the glint of a bottle disappear beneath his cloak, though Hagrid, mopping his eyes once more, noticed nothing. "Now... shall we proceed to the burial?"

Hagrid nodded and moved forward. He heaved the gigantic spider into his arms and, with an enormous grunt, rolled it into the dark pit. It hit the bottom with a rather horrible, crunchy thud. Johnny stifled his gag as Hagrid started to cry again.

"Of course, it's difficult for you, who knew him best," said Slughorn, who like Johnny could reach no higher than Hagrid's elbow, but patted it all the same. "Why don't I say a few words?"

He must have got a lot of good quality venom from Aragog, Johnny thought, for Slughorn wore a satisfied smirk as he stepped up to the rim of the pit and said, in a slow, impressive voice, "Farewell, Aragog, king of arachnids, whose long and faithful friendship those who knew you won't forget! Though your body will decay, your spirit lingers on in the quiet, web-spun places of your forest home. May your many-eyed descendants ever flourish and your human friends find solace for the loss they have sustained."

"Tha wa... tha wa... beau'iful!" howled Hagrid, and he collapsed onto the compost heap, crying harder than ever.

"There, there," said Slughorn, waving his wand so that the huge pile of earth rose up and then fell, with a muffled sort of crash, onto the dead spider, forming a smooth mound. "Lets get inside and have a drink. Get on his other side, Johnny... that's it... up you come, Hagrid... well done..."

They deposited Hagrid in a chair at the table. Fang, who had been skulking in his basket during the burial, now came padding softly across to them and put his heavy head into Johnny's lap as usual. Slughorn uncorked one of the bottles of wine he had brought.

"I have had it all tested for poison," he assured Johnny, pouring most of the first bottle into one of Hagrid's bucket-sized mugs and handing it to Hagrid. "Had a house-elf taste every bottle after what happened to you and your poor friend Rupert."

In his mind, Johnny saw the pure rage on his girlfriends face if she ever found out Slughorn tested potentially poisonous substances on House-Elf's, and decided never to bring it up.

"One for Johnny..." said Slughorn, dividing a second bottle between two mugs, "... and one for me. Well,--" he raised his mug high, "to Aragog."

"Aragog," said Johnny and Hagrid together.

Both Slughorn and Hagrid drank deeply. Johnny, however, with the way ahead illuminated for him by Felix Felicis, knew that he mustn't drink, so he merely pretended to take a gulp and then set the mug back on the table before him.

"I had him from an egg, yeh know," said Hagrid morosely. "'Tiny little thing he was when he hatched. 'Bout the size of a Pekingese"

"Sweet," said Slughorn.

"Used ter keep him in a cupboard up at the school until... well..."

Hagrid's face darkened and Johnny knew why: Tom Riddle had planned to have Hagrid thrown out of school, blamed for opening the Chamber of Secrets. Slughorn, however, didn't seem to be listening; he was looking up at the ceiling, from which a number of brass pots hung, and also a long, silky skein of bright white hair.

"That's not unicorn hair, Hagrid?"

"Oh, yeah," said Hagrid indifferently. "Gets pulled out of their tails, they catch it on branches an' stuff in the forest, yeh know ..."

"But my dear chap, do you know how much that's worth?"

"I use it fer bindin' on bandages an' stuff if a creature gets in jured," said Hagrid, shrugging. "It's dead useful... very strong."

Slughorn took another deep draught from his mug, his eyes moving carefully around the cabin now, looking, Johnny knew, for more treasures that he might be able to convert into a plentiful supply of oak-matured mead, crystallised pineapple, and velvet smoking jackets. He refilled Hagrid's mug and his own, and questioned him about the creatures that lived in the forest these days and how Hagrid was able to look after them all. Hagrid, becoming expansive under the influence of the drink and Slughorn's flattering interest, stopped mopping his eyes and entered happily into a long explanation of Bowtruckle husbandry.

The Felix Felicis gave Johnny a little nudge at this point, and he noticed that the supply of drink that Slughorn had brought was running out fast. Johnny hadn't yet managed to bring off the Refilling Charm without saying the incantation aloud, but the idea that he mightn't be able to do it tonight was laughable: indeed, Johnny grinned to himself as, unnoticed by either Hagrid or Slughorn (now swapping tales of the illegal trade in dragon eggs) he pointed his wand under the table at the emptying bottles and they immediately began to refill.

After an hour or so, Hagrid and Slughorn began making extravagant toasts: to Hogwarts, to Dumbledore, to elf-made wine, and to--

"Johnathan Grindelwald!" bellowed Hagrid, slopping some of his fourteenth bucket of wine down his chin as he drained it.

"Yes, indeed," cried Slughorn a little thickly, "Gohnathan Jrindelwald, the Chosen Boy Who--well -- something of that sort," he mumbled, and drained his mug too.

Not long after this, Hagrid became tearful again and pressed the whole unicorn tail upon Slughorn, who pocketed it with cries of, "To friendship! To generosity! To ten Galleons a hair!"

And for a while after that, Hagrid and Slughorn were sitting side by side, arms around each other, singing a slow sad song about a dying wizard called Odo.

"Aaargh, the good die young," muttered Hagrid, slumping low onto the table, a little cross-eyed, while Slughorn continued to warble the refrain. "Me dad was no age ter go... nor were yer aunt' an' uncle, Johnny..."

Great fat tears oozed out of the corners of Hagrid's crinkled eyes again; he grasped Johnny's arm and shook it

"Bes' wiz and witchard o' their age I never knew... terrible thing... terrible thing..."

Slughorn sang plaintively.

"And Odo the hero, they bore him back home
To the place that he'd known as a lad,
They laid him to rest with his hat inside out.
And his wand snapped in two, which was sad."

"... terrible," Hagrid grunted, and his great shaggy head rolled sideways onto his arms and he fell asleep, snoring deeply.

"Sorry," said Slughorn with a hiccup. "Can't carry a tune to save my life."

"Hagrid wasn't talking about your singing," said Johnny quietly. "He was talking about my aunt and uncle dying."

"Oh," said Slughorn, repressing a large belch. "Oh dear. Yes, that was--was terrible indeed. Terrible... terrible..."

He looked quite at a loss for what to say, and resorted to refilling their mugs.

"I don't--don't suppose you remember it, Johnny?" he asked awkwardly.

"No--well, I was already adopted when they died," said Johnny, his eyes on the flame of the candle flickering in Hagrid's heavy snores. "But I've found out pretty much what happened since. My uncle died first. Did you know that?"

"I--I didn't," said Slughorn in a hushed voice.

"Yeah... Voldemort murdered him and then stepped over his body toward my aunt," said Johnny, one lone tear running down his cheek.

Slughorn gave a great shudder, but he didn't seem able to tear his horrified gaze away from Johnny's face.

"He told her to get out of the way," said Johnny remorselessly. "He told me she needn't have died. He only wanted Harry and I. But I was halfway across the country and my aunt... she could've ran."

"Oh dear," breathed Slughorn. "She could have... she needn't... that's awful..."

"It is, isn't it?" said Johnny, in a voice barely more than a whisper. "But she didn't move. Uncle James was already dead, but she didn't want Harry to go too. She tried to plead with Voldemort... but he just laughed...."

"That's enough!" said Slughorn suddenly, raising a shaking hand. "Really, my dear boy, enough... I'm an old man... I don't need to hear... I don't want to hear..."

"I forgot," lied Johnny, Felix Felicis leading him on. "You liked her, didn't you?"

"Liked her?" said Slughorn, his eyes brimming with tears once more. "I don't imagine anyone who met her wouldn't have liked her... very brave... very funny... it was the most horrible thing..."

"But you won't help her son and nephew," said Johnny. "She gave me and Harry her life so we can put an end to the sadistic bastard, but you won't give us a memory."

Hagrid's rumbling snores filled the cabin. Johnny looked steadily into Slughorn's tear-filled eyes. The Potions master seemed unable to look away.

"Don't say that," he whispered. "It isn't a question... if it were to help you, of course... but no purpose can be serve..."

"It can," said Johnny clearly. "Dumbledore needs information. I need information."

He knew he was safe: Felix was telling him that Slughorn would remember nothing of this in the morning. Looking Slughorn straight in the eye, Johnny leaned forward a little.

"Harry and I are the Chosen Ones. One of us has to kill him. We need that memory."

Slughorn turned paler than ever; his shiny forehead gleamed with sweat.

"You are the Chosen Ones?"

"Of course we are," said Johnny calmly.

"But the... my dear boy... you're asking a great deal... you're asking me, in fact, to aid you in your attempt to destroy--"

"You don't want to get rid of the wizard who killed Lily Evans? Ripped apart Evelyn Potter's family?"

"Johnny, Johnny, of course I do, but --"

"You're scared he'll find out you helped us?"

Slughorn said nothing; he looked terrified.

"Be brave like my aunt Lily, Professor..."

Slughorn raised a pudgy hand and pressed his shaking fingers to his mouth; he looked for a moment like an enormously overgrown baby.

"I am not proud..." he whispered through his fingers. "I am ashamed of what--of what that memory shows... I think I may have done great damage that day..."

"You'd cancel out anything you did by giving me the memory," said Johnny. "It would be a very brave and noble thing to do."

Hagrid twitched in his sleep and snored on. Slughorn and Johnny stared at each other over the guttering candle. There was a long, long silence, but Felix Felicis told Johnny not to break it, to wait.

Then, very slowly, Slughorn put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his wand. He put his other hand inside his cloak and took out a small, empty bottle. Still looking into Johnny's eyes, Slughorn touched the tip of his wand to his temple and withdrew it, so that a long, silver thread of memory came away too, clinging to the wand tip. Longer and longer the memory stretched until it broke and swung, silvery bright, from the wand. Slughorn lowered it into the bottle where it coiled, then spread, swirling like gas. He corked the bottle with a trembling hand and then passed it across the table to Johnny.

"Thank you very much, Professor."

"You're a good boy," said Professor Slughorn, tears trickling down his fat cheeks into his walrus mustache. "And you've got the Potter eyes... just don't think too badly of me once you've seen it..."

And he too put his head on his arms, gave a deep sigh, and fell asleep.